Mr Bennet's Daughter
by Lady Susan
Summary: Sequel to Childhood Impressions. Misunderstandings sunder the childhood friendship of Darcy and Elizabeth. Now an independent young woman, Lizzy must work to regain her old friend – who has become the cold-hearted master of Pemberley. Meanwhile, Georgiana falls in love with her piano master and Jane falls in love with Bingley.
1. A Reunion of Sorts

**A/N: It's finally here...the sequel to Childhood Impressions. I have already rambled on about my proposed ideas for the plot line. If anyone has any good pranks or anything for Lizzy, however, I would love recommendations. Well, I am very excited. Hope that you enjoy!**

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**Mr. Bennet's Daughter**

_A Sequel to Childhood Impressions_

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_Blurb: Sequel to CI. The summer of her 16__th__ year, Lizzy must cope with a scheming widow, an insupportable cousin, and her own mixed feelings for a certain Fitzwilliam Darcy._

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Chapter 1

**A Reunion of Sorts**

_Seven Years Later_

Elizabeth Bennet hurtled down the muddied lane, her hair flying free of its neat braids, her eyes bright with excitement.

"You will never beat me, Elton!" she called over her shoulder to the wheezing boy struggling to keep up with her.

"Save your words!" he managed between breaths, "you cannot run like that forever."

"Says who?" she cried merrily, speeding up. Feet flying down the path, she was virtually unstoppable; as quick and lithe as a deer. Dodging and ducking, she quickly clipped a fence, taking a little known short-cut through an open field to a shaded avenue of trees. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Elton, completely stopped, attempting to regain his breath. Satisfied, she ran onward, in the general direction of Meryton, entirely sure of her success.

About half a mile up the avenue, an enormous chestnut horse came across her path-seemingly from nowhere. She skidded to a halt just as the beast reared on its hind legs. Its rider, cursing, held on for dear life, as the animal bucked wildly. It took several moments for the rider to cajole the terrified horse; Lizzy, meanwhile, had run forward to attempt to placate it.

"Step away!" cried the rider, flinging himself down from the saddle. "It is dangerous."

Lizzy paid no heed to this warning, however. She was not longer concerned with the horse. Without further ado, she flung herself into the arms of the rider.

"Darcy!" she cried, embracing him tightly and forgetting her muddied dress.

"Lizzy?" came the incredulous reply, slightly muffled due to the vise-like hug being bestowed upon him. A groan issued from the folds of a large coat. "Of course it is you. Who else would have the audacity to be barreling along a dirt path at such an hour?"

"I'll pretend you didn't say that," Lizzy replied, finally releasing him. She stepped backwards towards the horse. The poor creature had calmed down and gazed back at her serenely.

Darcy took the bridle and sighed. "What _**are**_ you doing?"

"Running away from bloodthirsty Huns," she teased, a broad smile upon her face.

"Oh, how nice," he remarked dryly.

Lizzy laughed. "I was racing Elton, of course."

"Oh, of course," he replied, mockly matter-of-fact, "and may I inquire as to Elton's current location?"

"Oh…I left him behind some time ago. He simply could not keep up!" Lizzy danced about happily, unable to contain her enthusiasm at seeing Darcy. He, on the other hand, was bracing himself for another crushing embrace. "Now, however, he shall beat me, but I really could care less. It was only for plums, after all. If I had bet my new fishing pole, I should surely have gone ahead…but fortunately I didn't. Besides, how could I finish when you are finally here?"

This string of incoherent speech did little to faze Darcy. Arms folded across his chest, he regarded Lizzy with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "So, here you are…"

"Here I am!" she announced, "and here you are…here we both are, in fact…and it has been an _**entire**_ year."

He submitted to yet another embrace. This time, she held on for more than a minute. "I am _**very**_ glad to see you too, Lizzy," he replied, after being released for the second time.

She smiled benignly at him. Though not usually a person to condone embraces, Lizzy had temporarily forgotten her dislike in her excitement at seeing her best friend in the _**entire**_ universe.

"So, what were you up to again?" he inquired, although he did not really need to know.

"Elton and I were _**racing**_," Lizzy repeated breathlessly, now clutching her side. In all the excitement, she had forgotten how very tired she was. The two mile sprint had been _**quite**_ fatiguing.

Darcy allowed her time to catch her breath. He was surveying her closely, eager to note any changes. At the present moment, she was missing both bonnet and gloves, and her calico frock was unrecognizable beneath layers of mud. He was not, however, concerned with her disheveled appearance-instead, he was both delighted and relieved to find that a year's passing had not changed her. Admittedly, she was taller, her curls were more unruly, and her freckles more pronounced, but she was still the very same Lizzy he remembered from the last summer-slender, brown, and wild. Those unmistakable eyes-a mercurial cerulean-blinked back at him, full of mischief and mirth.

"Betsy has quite given up on me being a beauty, you know," Lizzy said, as though guessing the train of his thoughts, "I am much too dark and much too plain."

"Are you expecting a compliment?" Darcy inquired, "young ladies often deride their looks in order to procure one."

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Do you think me _**that**_ vain?"

He laughed. "Of course not."

"Now," she said, eyes twinkling, "did I give you a fright?"

He nodded fiercely. "Yes. You did. How very reckless of you."

"Well, do not look so censorious, Darcy," she scolded lightly, "you look as though you are about to lecture me, and that would make you no better than Hetta." Here she was referring to her governess of seven years.

"I was almost thrown from my horse," Darcy reminded her, still recovering from both his near accident and Lizzy's enthusiastic embraces. Mud now splattered his cravat, waistcoat, breeches, and top-boots.

"Well, serves you right," Lizzy remarked airily, "you should have been more prepared for the unexpected. What if you had encountered highwaymen, eh? Do not blame _**me**_ for your poor equestrian skills."

"Poor equestrian abilities?" Darcy managed a wry smile. "I can see that _**you**_ have not changed."

Lizzy's eyes flashed, and she was about to launch a biting retort when Darcy held up his hand.

"Please, let's not quarrel, Lizzy," he asked her, taking the horse's bridle in one hand and her brown paw in the other. "I have only just arrived, you know."

She did not struggle but allowed him to lead her down the path. "I suppose I could call it a truce for the time being."

They wandered in a desultory fashion down the wide path for some time, a comfortable silence settling between them. Both were curious to learn of the other's life during the past year, but time was on their side. Therefore, they each withdrew to their own thoughts, so as to procure the most choice morsels of information to trade with one another.

"Where is Uncle Willy-Ben?" inquired Lizzy, finally breaking the silence. She had long since dropped Darcy's hand and was strolling with a stick in hand, rattling the make-shift beams of the wicker fence that lined the avenue.

A pained expression crossed Darcy's face, and, although he attempted to conceal it, Lizzy was quick to notice. She abandoned her stick and fence-hitting in order to better observe him. "He was not feeling very well, I am afraid," was all that he said.

"What do you mean 'not feeling very well'?" Lizzy demanded sharply. She turned and faced Darcy, her eyes demanding the truth.

"I do not know," Darcy answered, turning away, "my father insists that it is nothing serious-only symptoms of old age…" he trailed off, leaving Lizzy to infer that it was much more serious… "and he sends his regards. As of now, his visit to Hertfordshire must be postponed until the end of July."

Elizabeth did not look happy with the arrangements, but, aware of the pained expression upon Darcy's face, decided not to press the matter. Face set, she continued onward at a brisk pace, leaving Darcy to follow.

"How have you been?" he asked her abruptly, grabbing her arm and slowing her to a leisurely pace. She looked rather annoyed at this change, but maintained the speed for his sake.

"What a mundane question," she replied shortly, "to ask me how I have been."

"Well…what should you like me to ask?"

"Something interesting. Like, "How many pranks have you pulled?" or something along those lines," Lizzy replied.

Darcy shrugged. "Perhaps I would rather know how you have been."

"Well, suit yourself," she snapped, "I suppose I have been fine." Concern over Mr. Darcy's health had made her rather waspish. Darcy wished that he had kept the information to himself and made some other excuse for his father's absence.

"Fine?" he inquired, eyebrows raised, "could you be slightly less ambiguous?"

Elizabeth sighed, but some of her sparkle had returned, and she appeared to be more aware of her duty to be her usual merry self. "Hetta and I have had the most terrific quarrels," she volunteered, "and I have pulled some abominably horrid pranks on her."

Darcy, glad to see Lizzy slightly cheered, interrupted to inquire, "Such as?"

Lizzy giggled in spite of herself. "I switched the bindings of two books… one of Mama's dreadful romance novels and _**The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire**_. Hetta began to read the _**Rise and Fall **_during class-in front of Jane and Mary and Kitty and Lydia and everyone-but she was reading Udolpho instead…the worst and sappiest part of it! I have never laughed so hard!"

Darcy laughed too, in spite of himself. "Horrible girl!" he declared. "And has that been the extent of your studies?"

"No," Lizzy replied, "I have learned Greek and my French is on the mend…I can play a little Beethoven…I have read _**The Republic**_ and any number of other novels…I can list all of the Roman emperors in order…recite Queen Elizabeth's famous speech…and I know almost everything there is about history." She smiled. "William the Conqueror is rapidly becoming a favorite…second only to Napoleon."

"Is he really?" Darcy inquired, "well, that is quite interesting, to say the least."

"How is Cambridge?" Lizzy asked, "how I envy you the opportunity to go!"

"It is quite… _enlightening_," said Darcy, with a slight laugh.

"And is Wickham behaving?"

Darcy's laugh faded quickly. "Wickham is steadily becoming a bad influence," he said, after a few moments, "he is increasingly beginning to doubt his preference for the Church. I do not think that he will end up a parson."

"I never thought that he would," Lizzy said, "he is not the sort to spend his time writing sermons."

"My father is disappointed in him," Darcy said, "but there is little he can do. When Wickham sets his mind against something, there is no persuading him otherwise."

Lizzy nodded, in complete understanding.

"He shall not cause us trouble this summer, though," Darcy said, and there was a trace of relief in his voice, "for he is off to a friend's home in Herefordshire."

"Really? And where is Bingley?"

"Bingley? He is gone to stay with his great-aunt in London," Darcy informed her, "poor fellow. He really did not want to go."

"Do you mean the one he was telling us about last year…the one with all of the cats?" inquired Lizzy, feeling quite sorry for Bingley.

"The very one," Darcy replied. He grimaced. "It will not be a very enjoyable summer for him, to say the least."

They neared a break in the road; it led in two directions. In the distance, the ramshackle roof-top of Longborne could be distinguished.

"Shall you come to dinner?" Lizzy asked him.

Darcy paused, hesitating.

"I doubt there is anything remotely edible at Netherfield right now, if you have just arrived," Lizzy informed him, "and I am sure that we are having roast lamb and some fruit tart this evening." She studied his face. "If you are worried about Mama, I can always sneak you in through my window and feed you in my room. Or we could have a picnic."

"Perhaps it would just be better if we ate dinner like civilized people," Darcy suggested, making up his mind.

Lizzy grimaced and made a face. "Please do not mention 'civilized people'," she teased, "I balk at the word. Bah!"

Darcy laughed, taking Lizzy's arm. She did not struggle, but took the left path towards Longborne.

"I should warn you that Amelia has come to stay again," she told him, as they descended a small hill.

Darcy laughed. "I am not worried about _**her**_. She is nothing to your mother."

"You are a very brave person, Darcy," Lizzy said, and there was a touch of admiration in her voice, "it is not every man who can face Mama without fear."

"Indeed. Is she really that bad?"

"Yes. Worse than you could possibly imagine. But you mustn't blame her; Jane is now of an age to be married, you know."

"And this makes her more terrifying _how_?" questioned Darcy, though he knew the answer.

Lizzy laughed. "You know as well as I do. She is bound and determined to see her married. And her ceaseless machinations are only worsening her 'nervous' condition. But she blames _me_."

"Poor Lizzy," said Darcy.

"I am not so very poor," she replied candidly, "because I am much faster than she is, so I can escape very easily."

"Can you?"

"Yes, and that will prove very useful now that you are here." Lizzy gazed thoughtfully off into the distance, before turning again to Darcy. "I _**am**_ glad that you are here, you know," she informed him, without a trace of sarcasm in her voice. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Are you?" Darcy inquired, smiling in a rather funny manner.

Lizzy nodded, before donning a wicked smile. "Now…race you to the kitchen door!"

And before Darcy could manage to get a word in edgewise, she was flying down the path, scattering gravel and dirt in her wake.


	2. A Dash of Rivalry

**_A/N: So, chapter 2. Thanks for the fantastic reviews. They made my day. Without a doubt, this Lizzy is one of my favorites. I hope to keep her true to character at sixteen, although, unfortunately, she must grow up slightly. I hope to add in as much mischief and adventure as I can, however. After all, Lizzy hates propriety! And Amelia makes a reappearance! Another Caroline Bingley on the horizon? Most assuredly. Then again, Darcy may take to her more...read on! Kudos from Lady Susan: )_**

**_Chapter 2_**

A Dash of Rivalry

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Seven years had passed quickly for Lizzy.

Lizzy, at sixteen, was really no different than Lizzy at nine; she was much more knowledgeable, naturally, but, beyond that, she had retained many of her childish qualities. Her childhood ambitions had not changed, nor had the dreams of her youth. She still wanted to become a pirate and sail the uncharted seas; the smart little ship that Admiral Cardross had so graciously bestowed upon her did not prove enough to satisfy her insatiable desire to travel the world. She was a born rebel, and her resentment of the rules and customs that governed her life had only deepened through the years as she had been forced to accept more and more responsibility. In short, Elizabeth Bennet had changed very little.

Around the Longborne neighborhood, she was known as something of a spitfire. The few suitors who had entertained hopes of her hand had been either humiliated by pranks or scalded by acrimonious words. Her incorrigible behavior had earned her the title of a headstrong girl bound for the road of spinsterhood, a reputation she accepted gratefully, so long as it kept potential suitors away. Lizzy was not in the least eager to marry; at sixteen, she regarded marriage as a prison, and she felt not the slightest desire to chain herself to some undeserving and far less-intelligent male.

She was the despair of her mother, who declared her second child so incapable of womanly virtue and grace, so devoid of propriety, and so insufferably frank that she was beyond anything. Mrs. Bennet had long ago washed her hands of the girl and happily left her to the care of Henrietta Marshington. Instead, she sought solace in beautiful, sweet Jane and Lydia, her lively youngest. Her ways were much the same they had been when Lizzy was a girl, except that she now had 'bait' for potential sons-in-law-that being Jane.

Lizzy had still maintained her status as her father's favorite, and it was from _**him**_ that she received all the parental affection so lacking on her mother's part. Mr. Bennet had taken his daughter's education very seriously, and, although he considered Miss. Marshington a sharp, intelligent young lady, he insisted upon tutoring Lizzy in some subjects. They got along capitally, and Mr. Bennet was often apt to consider Lizzy the son he had never had. Naturally, he was fond of his other children, but Jane was too demure, Mary too sanctimonious, and Kitty and Lydia too empty-headed. Lizzy-with her electric blue eyes, intelligence, and spirit-was a mirror of his own youth. Therefore, he doted upon her, and she was, without a doubt, his favorite.

Jane was still a paragon of both beauty and virtue. She had blossomed into an angel, and her beauty was unparalleled throughout the neighborhood. She was the belle of Meryton and the pride of her mother, who delighted in declaring to Lady Lucas, "Yes, yes. Jane is so very beautiful; the prettiest girl in Hertfordshire," and casting a shrewish look in the direction of Lady Lucas's daughters, who were all notoriously plain. It gave her innumerable delight, however much it embarrassed Jane.

Mary Bennet was neither clever nor beautiful; she fancied herself a bluestocking but lacked the wit of her sister to smooth such a 'flaw' over. She was unusually somber and severe for a girl of fifteen, and her fate as a spinster seemed even more sealed than Lizzy's, for she had not an ounce of spirit or imagination. Fortunately, she had acquired a great deal of tact and patience, so she was never at odds with Mrs. Bennet. She kept out of her mother's way and avoided her father, whose dry wit she could not tolerate. Her days were filled with _**Fordyce's Sermons**_ and whatever dull composer she could find to fritter away time with on the piano-forte. Suffice it to say, Lizzy was not overly-fond of her sister's company. Mary never failed to take her to task upon her 'egregious actions' and 'horribly uncourteous behavior'. Therefore, Elizabeth avoided her.

Kitty and Lydia-barely ten months apart-were as inseparable as they had been in childhood and quite as intelligent. Their heads were full of rubbish, and, when not following Amelia around, they could be found up to all sorts of silly nonsense. Fashion plates dictated much of their schooling; even the stout-hearted Miss. Marshington could not coax them to pursue any form of scholastic achievement. They were happy to be ignorant and so they remained.

Betsy and Rose remained unchanged. Their allegiance to Lizzy was still strong, and they had gotten her out of many scrapes with Mrs. Bennet through the years. Therefore, Elizabeth was immensely loyal to them, and protected them against her mother's tirades. Mrs. Bennet considered her daughter's connections with the kitchen and the servants appalling, but she did not interfere. No one, Elizabeth included, really understood why she kept silent on the subject, but no one was willing to investigate. So, Lizzy maintained her friendships with the maids and the cooks and the servants and considered them all the best and truest friends she could have.

Her own little band had broken up soon after Lizzy had turned eleven. Charlotte's time had been monopolized by her mother, who required her at home to mind the enormous Lucas brood, while Clara's mother had deemed Lizzy an unfit association and forbidden Clara to see her again. This was after a particularly nasty incident when Clara had tripped home dressed as a savage. That she had been playing with Elizabeth Bennet was obvious; Mrs. Long had been appalled and that had been the end of that acquaintance. John had grown roguish and flirtatious, two characteristics that Lizzy abhorred. That being said, Elton was really the only friend left to her, besides the Netherfield party and the servants. She did not get along at all with any of the young ladies of the neighborhood and left cultivating civilized friendships to Jane.

She had not really changed over the past seven years, and she still clung fervently to her childhood. Becoming an accomplished young lady was out of the question in Elizabeth Bennet's mind; she was set upon a life of freedom. Indeed, it was freedom that she clung too with fervor-intent upon remaining unshackled-determined to venture forth in the world alone and independent.

That was how Darcy found her, and, inwardly, he was relieved to find that she had not changed. As sure as the sunrise over the Hertfordshire hills, Lizzy was the one person he could count upon to live up to her reputation. After the immense changes he had been experiencing, her bright, impetuous face was a welcome sight.

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Mrs. Bennet greeted Darcy with her usual enthusiasm; she considered him quite a 'catch' for either Jane or Amelia. Despite her obvious machinations, he consented to dinner and was entertained in the parlor while Lizzy skipped off to the kitchens to inform Betsy and Rose of the changes.

"We are so _**very**_ glad that you have returned to Netherfield Park," Mrs. Bennet informed him, a wide smile upon her lips. "And how fortuitous you should arrive not three days after my own dear niece. Amelia…have you met Mr. Darcy?" Amelia had not had that pleasure in three years, since her last visit to Longborne. In a deceptively sweet voice, she exclaimed that it had been some time since last they had been acquainted; Mr. Darcy should not know her.

"But I do remember you," Darcy replied, attempting civility.

Amelia was all astonishment that he should remember such an unimportant personage as herself.

Darcy was somewhat taken aback and did not immediately respond. This left Mrs. Bennet enough time to interrupt the conversation. "How do you find the Park, Mr. Darcy?"

"It is in good shape," he replied, still looking at Amelia. She was fingering her delicate muslin dress and pretending to gaze thoughtfully out the window.

"And has your father accompanied you?"

"I am afraid that his health detains him in Derbyshire."

"Ah," Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips to avoid smiling. It appeared that Fitzwilliam Darcy would soon come into his inheritance-a thought that pleased her greatly. It was her dearest wish to see her niece well settled. After all, Amelia Lawrence was very close to her heart; her mother had been _**such**_ a favorite.

"I am very sorry," Mrs. Bennet lied, "what a pity. And what of Mr. Bingley, that delightful young fellow who is always about?"

"Bingley is visiting some relations, I believe," Darcy replied curtly. The interview was bordering upon tedium, and Lizzy was nowhere to be seen. With such an interlocutor as Mrs. Bennet, he doubted he would be able to escape before dinner. His acceptance had already been forced upon him. Strangely enough, Amelia seemed to sense his pain. She cast him the most understanding smile. It was almost as if she _understood_. Darcy dismissed this thought, however. She was far too pretty to be intelligent. Besides, the last time he remembered her, she had been tattling upon Lizzy…he had disliked her intensely then. Why, now, did he have the odd feeling that he was beginning to admire her? Lizzy had warned him expressly of befriending her.

"It has been so desolate around Hertfordshire without you," Mrs. Bennet was saying, "Netherfield is _**so**_ drafty without residents, you know."

"Is it?" Darcy inquired vaguely.

"I believe any place is drafty without residents," Amelia replied, in a spirited tone. Her eyes were not nearly as bright or blue as Lizzy's, but, Darcy mused, they were quite _nice_, to say the least. She blushed prettily under his scrutiny. Unable to help himself, he managed to cast a slight smile in her direction.

"I do hope that you are fond of fish, Mr. Darcy. We always have fish on certain evenings of the week, you know, and today just happens to be one of those days…"

Darcy was quite happy to eat fish. Amelia giggled at his acceptance, a gratifying experience that made him decide to eat fish more often.

Mrs. Bennet, oblivious to her success, plowed onward about paltry affairs of the neighborhood. Darcy exchanged glances with Amelia, who batted her eyelashes with practiced skill.

When Lizzy re-entered the room, Jane following, she found Darcy and Amelia engaged in low conversation, with Mrs. Bennet nearby, attempting to eavesdrop. An embroidery hoop sat idly upon her lap, and Lizzy grimaced at the sight of it. Seven years later, she still could not abide the sight of anything related to sewing.

"Hallo," she said brightly, situating herself between Darcy and Amelia. "What is so very funny?" Amelia had been giggling; an annoyed look crossed her face at the entrance of her cousin.

"I am afraid that Mr. Darcy and I were having a private conversation," she hissed in an aside to Lizzy.

Mrs. Bennet gazed witheringly at her daughter. "Must you be so rude, Elizabeth?"

"Private conversation?" asked Lizzy, ignoring her mother, "please do not tell me you are discussing battle plans. I would not put it past you, Amelia, but I did not think military strategy much in your style."

Amelia managed a stifled laugh. "You are so very funny, Cousin," she managed, "yet so very childish in your thinking." She cast Darcy a knowing look.

Lizzy shrugged. "You will never guess, Darcy!" she exclaimed, leaning towards him and whispering. Amelia leaned closer so as to hear. "The most wonderful thing has happened! Betsy has an old flour barrel, and she has promised to let me take it up that large hill over Farmer Gregory's fields and roll down in it…I am going to race Geri!"

"Really?" cried Darcy, suddenly interested. Seven years of time had made him quieter, wiser, and much more mature, but, whenever he was around Lizzy, his childish side returned.

"Shall you condone such behavior, Mr. Darcy?" inquired Amelia, wrinkling her nose, "it seems so very dangerous. Only think of what could happen."

Darcy turned towards her, his usual sense taking hold of him. "Indeed," he said, "you are right. It is far too dangerous, Lizzy." The sparkle in his eyes had vanished.

Elizabeth was shocked. Never before had Darcy backed down on adventure. "What do you mean it is _**dangerous**_? That is the whole point!" She glowered at Amelia, who was arranging her skirts and attempting to appear docile.

"Shall we take a walk in the garden, Mr. Darcy, before dinner?" she asked him, once she had arranged her skirts to advantage, "it is such a beautiful evening, after all."

He stood, ignoring Lizzy's repeated death glares. He offered Amelia his arm." Of course, Miss. Lawrence."

Lizzy leapt up as well, but Amelia stopped her. "I daresay you have things to take care of upstairs, my dear," she informed her cousin, "perhaps another time. Besides, the lane will not admit more than two."

"Admit more than two, my foot!" Lizzy cried, "why, only yesterday, we had the most magnificent…"

But Amelia had turned for the door, keeping a tight hold upon the arm of Darcy. He cast an apologetic look at Lizzy before disappearing out the door.

And Lizzy, realization dawning, fell back to the couch, every ounce of argument gone. Already, Darcy was being lost to the clutches of Amelia…and what had she to do about it? There was only one thing to be done, she decided quickly, and that was retaliation.

Amelia's presence rendered dinner an almost insupportable affair for Lizzy. She picked through her meal, barely touched the delectable dessert, and spoke very little. Darcy was too preoccupied with Amelia to notice, or, as Lizzy thought bitterly, _care_. Though she detested sulking in general, she could not help but assume a melancholy expression, and, soon after dinner had been cleared away and everyone had retreated into the parlor, she disappeared outdoors.


	3. Changes for the Better?

**A/N Okay…so how can I face you? Dear me…it's been a month. And I promised to post! Please do not be angry. I would give you all cookies, but I am afraid that is impossible. School has gotten in the way…that is its purpose, actually, to interfere with everything. I've just been too swamped with homework and projects to write. I really wanted to though, if that helps anything. Anyway, I typed a nice, long chapter to try to make up for my absence. I was going to post it Thursday, but that was the premiere of the Office, and I could not miss it. Jim and Pam are together: ) Happiness! Anyway, I am posting today in the hopes that you can forgive me and trust in me to write more often. (I will try.) I know I said that Lady Piedmont would appear in this chapter, but I had to back her up to next chapter (I want her to make a really grand entrance). So, to make things better, Caroline is in this chapter (along with Mr. Hurst, my personal hero) and Louisa, of course. What would a story be without Louisa? I also have some seriousness too, because no story is complete without a touch of melodrama. Not too much Amelia; trust me, she will get her just desserts. I can't wait until she and Caroline butt heads. Can you say love **_**square**_** (Darcy, Lizzy, Amelia, and Caroline)…or maybe love pentagon (if you throw Anne into the mix, as Lady Catherine will try to do). Oh…and Mr. Collins will be in this story…hopefully. Because no true P&P fanfic would be complete without him. I cannot imagine the world existing without Mr. Collins. Well, I did not mean to ramble, but I have. Please forgive me…and kudos to those loyal people who actually bother to read this. Hope you enjoy and, as always, I would love some tips or suggestions for future pranks. (I get some good ones from The Office…) Thanks! Happy reading!**

Chapter 3

Changes for the Better?

It did not take long for Darcy to notice Lizzy's disappearance. She was not present in the parlor after dinner, a fact which Mrs. Bennet soon smoothed over.

"She is so temperamental these days," she said, "but I do not force her to sit with us. She is very set in her ways, Mr. Darcy. It would be foolish for anyone to go after her."

Amelia seconded these statements, so Darcy remained for the greater part of an hour. He was slightly worried about Lizzy; though he enjoyed his conversation with Amelia, he excused himself rather early. She accompanied him to the door of the parlor, at which she begged he would call upon her tomorrow.

"It is rather tedious here," she informed him, with a delicate smile. "I sometimes find myself desiring the companionship of someone like you. It was so wonderful to be able to converse with an equal in intelligence and wit." She smiled again, and Darcy remembered how witty and intelligent her conversation _**had**_ been, though she had not really gotten some of his jokes. Nevertheless, the evening had been very pleasant, and he would not mind visiting again. He dully promised to pay call, paid his respects to Mrs. Bennet, and departed in search of Lizzy.

He found her in a small meadow behind the a stone storehouse, staring at the evening sky, her head pillowed on a large English sheepdog.

"Who is this?" he inquired in greeting. Without asking permission, he began to pet the dog.

Lizzy acknowledged his presence with a slight inclination of her head. "Seymour," she answered in a distant voice.

"Seymour?" Darcy raised his eyebrows.

"After Jane Seymour," Lizzy replied promptly. "I was reading the history of Henry VIII at the time. I named my cat Howard, after Katherine Howard.

She turned on an elbow to survey him. Seymour, vexed at being so abused (he was tired of acting as a pillow) licked her face perfunctorily and then disappeared into the kitchen. Darcy sat down beside her on the grass.

"You've changed," she said simply, but the look in her eyes told him that she was deeply perplexed. "I do not know what has happened, but you have changed."

"Not that much, surely," he returned flippantly, although he knew that Lizzy was serious.

"Enough to make me notice," she said, returning her gaze to the inky sky scattered with stars, "it has been gradual, of course-the past few years you have become ever-so-slightly different. _Everything_ is different now."

"Lizzy…if this is about Amelia…"

"This has nothing to do with Amelia," Lizzy corrected him, her voice touched with asperity as she mentioned her cousin's name, "on that score, I can do nothing but rebuke your judgment. Of all people to fancy! _Amelia Lawrence_. And after I warned you." She crossed her arms, awaiting some form of reply. Darcy did not oblige her, so she shrugged and continued. "I am not going to say anything more on the subject, because I do not want to waste my breath talking about such a self-absorbed ninny. I want to discuss what has happened in a year's time to so change the Fitzwilliam Darcy I knew."

"Nothing really. I really don't understand why you think that…"

"Please do not talk in circles, Darcy. If you think that you can confuse me, you are sadly mistaken. My powers of discernment are as sharp as ever, thank you." Lizzy hoisted herself up, brushed the grass from her skirt, and managed, even in a slightly disheveled state, to look as authoritative as ever.

Darcy surveyed her curiously. "What are you doing?"

Lizzy shrugged, before breaking into a run.

"ELIZABETH BENNET!" Darcy cried after her, "are you mad?" He glanced around at the darkness that blanketed the Hertfordshire countryside; even with a full moon, he could see very little.

"The old Darcy would follow without question," she shouted back over her shoulder.

"Then the old Darcy was a fool!" he called, but, despite his words, he followed. Lizzy was an excellent runner, so he had difficulty in keeping up with her. She skirted branches and limbs with surprising dexterity, while he struggled to avoid being whacked in the face. In the darkness, the landscape melted together into similar shapes, so it was impossible to make out where Elizabeth was leading him. Deciding against his better judgment to trust the imp, however, he plowed onward, listening for her light tread upon the ground.

At last, after an exhausting cross-country run, Lizzy stopped. Grinding to an abrupt halt himself, he collapsed upon the ground.

"Exasperating, really," agile Lizzy informed him, looking as though she had walked the distance. Her breathing was quite regular. "Must you rest?"

A series of deep breaths informed her that he must.

Lizzy sat down upon a tree stump and played with a leaf. "Browning Pond is only a little farther, you see. It is still a puddle, but the ------ is still anchored there. I tried to take it to the stream once, but it didn't work out.

"We are going to Browning Pond, then?" Darcy inquired, between gulping for air.

"Naturally," was the answer, delivered in Lizzy's _**do-you-not-know-anything**_ smug voice.

"Perhaps next time you could give me some form of prior alert."

"If I alerted you, then there would be no fun in it. Surprises are infinitely more preferable to the everyday, mundane expectation. People expect far too much these days. It is _sickening_."

"You are rather cynical this evening."

"I have a reason to be."

Darcy sighed but did not argue. After all, Elizabeth was right. And she knew she was. It was apparent by the smug expression upon her face, visible even in the weak moonlight. He eventually forced himself to move forward, and they walked the short distance to Browning Pond. Even in the softening effect of the moonlight, it did not look any more spectacular than he had remembered; just a gray puddle of blackness, small and unworthy of the distinction of 'pond'.

Contrasting to the 'puddle' of the pond and looking quite out of place, the ----- rose majestically above the waters. Darcy could just make out the magnificent shape of the grand sailing vessel Admiral Cardross had bestowed upon both the two of them seven years ago, during their delightful visit to Portsmouth.

"You have taken very good care of it," he said, observing the vessel; there was a note of pride in his voice.

She smiled. "I clean it every week. Elton helps me." They walked closer. Darcy raised a hand to touch the polished mahogany. "Just as I remember."

"Good." Lizzy smiled happily, then leapt aboard without further ado. Darcy followed. The ship was spacious and handsome; it was obviously well taken care of. There were two small cabins, fitted up in the best naval style, a wide deck, and a large 'captain's' wheel that was good for nothing save pretend.

Both rooms were in much the same order as they had been the previous summer. Entering the first, Darcy could make out the familiar 'study' area; wide, circular windows fitted up with handsome, masculine draperies; upholstered leather armchairs, a globe situated on a stand, and several bookcases covered in volumes. All of these furnishings had been gifts from Admiral Cardross, and Lizzy was immensely proud of them. The second room had several 'bunk-beds' and a smattering of other accessories. He noticed that one of the beds had been recently slept in and guessed correctly that Lizzy spent a majority of her time on the ship.

After investigating the rooms, Darcy realized that he had lost his companion. It did not take him long to find her, however. The ship was not _**that**_ large, after all.

"I come here often," Lizzy explained without further ado, once he had come to stand beside her. She was positioned at the deck, holding the rail and looking out into the distance.

Darcy smiled to himself, thinking it all very Lizzyish behavior. The smile disappeared quickly, however, as he realized the reflective mood she was in. Lizzy was never sentimental or emotional or anything normally feminine, but, that particular evening, she was unusually somber, and Darcy had the guilty feeling that his behavior with Amelia earlier in the evening had caused it. Had he known the truth of the matter, he would have been far more concerned.

"Have I really changed?" he asked, after a long stretch of comfortable silence.

Elizabeth did not answer. She did not need to. They had long ago been able to communicate without words.

"I am sorry then, to so disappoint you," he said, not waiting for an answer.

"You do not disappoint me," she replied tersely, still gazing at the calm waters beneath them, "merely puzzle me. I thought I knew you better."

"But you do!" he protested. "Lizzy…you know me better than anyone!"

She turned her attention to him; those electric blue eyes regarded him steadily. "Do I?"

"Why yes…of course!"

"Just tell me the truth, Darcy. The truth is all that I want. You are very different now, and I want to know _why_."

He sighed but did not look at her. He could not bring himself to. "My father is very ill," he said, after a while. "I am worried. That is all."

"Is it?"

"Yes," he answered firmly, still not meeting her eyes. "That is all."

It was obvious that she was not satisfied, but she did not press the matter further. Instead, she allowed silence to drift between them, as they both stared off into the forest that enclosed the pond.

"I've missed Hertfordshire," Darcy finally ventured. Sincerity echoed from every word. "I've missed you too, Lizzy." He turned to face her. "You cannot imagine how lonely and dull everything is without you underfoot."

"I most assuredly can," she said, smiling roguishly, "then again, I have never had to live without myself, so I really _**cannot**_ sympathize."

He laughed. "I wish Father were here…we truly could be merry then!"

"Why did you leave him, Darcy? Why did you come?" Lizzy was suddenly very serious.

Darcy's laugh faded; he glanced downward, at the smooth railing of the 'ship'. "In truth, it was selfishness. I wanted to see you. I wanted to see Hertfordshire. In my mind, I always connect this part of the country with happiness…and childhood. Whenever I am around you…or even Netherfield, I feel _young_ again." He paused for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. "Father insisted. He promised to come along in a few weeks' time; I do believe that he was feeling better. The doctor even agreed that he might be able to travel. And I was so tired of Derbyshire…"

"I understand," Lizzy said, cutting him short, "you don't have to defend yourself. I know how dedicated you are to him."

Darcy shrugged. "No doubt I appear to be a horrible son…abandoning my father for a summer holiday in Hertfordshire!"

"You are not a horrible son!" Lizzy snapped, as though angry he had suggested such a thing. "You are a most excellent son, as you well know. Everyone must have time off! Life is too hard, otherwise."

He shrugged. "I suppose you are right." He glanced at her troubled face. "I think I should ask _**you**_ what is wrong…it is not just me, or is it?"

Lizzy sighed. "No, it is not just you. It is _everything_, I suppose. Everything has changed, you see. Clara and Charlotte and John have changed…even Elton. _**You**_ have changed. But I haven't. I don't want to. I _**can't**_." Lizzy gazed at him. "You have been my best friend for seven years, Darcy…better than Clara and Charlotte and Elton and John all combined. I just could not bear to loose you too. It would be too much."

Darcy gazed at her earnest face; he had never before seen Elizabeth Bennet quite so serious or frightened before. "How could you loose me?" he inquired gently.

She laughed. "Quite easily! I could loose you to London society, or to adulthood, or even to a _**woman**_." She turned away. "That would be the hardest to bear, because I would be losing you to another person."

"You shall never loose me, Lizzy! I am not easily lost, after all! Come now...really!"

"Not so easily lost?" Lizzy raised an eyebrow. "What of Amelia? You were easily lost to her eyelashes. Do not deny it. I saw you at dinner; a proper fool you made of yourself. Milksop material, I daresay!"

"Do you mean to tell me you are afraid of losing me to _Miss. Lawrence_? I have only just met her."

"You have known her for quite some time!"

"Yes, but I have not really known her. Not as she is now…a proper young lady."

"A proper young lady? Bah! She is no more proper than I am, she just knows how to better conceal it."

Darcy laughed. "You goose! You are jealous of Amelia, aren't you. Come now. I am sure you are. Otherwise, you would not be nearly so worked up."

"I am jealous surely! She is a monopoly on my time with you-time which I consider valuable, considering that I am only allowed to see you every summer."

"You are dreadfully selfish, Lizzy!"

"I know I am!" she cried, obviously nettled, "but I cannot help it. I do not understand you anymore, Darcy, and it is frightening. You are too grown-up now. We cannot be as we used to."

"Surely we can? Why, we still have books and fishing and…"

"I wish I could make you understand." It was all that Lizzy said. She did not look at him; it was almost as if she could not bring herself to do so.

They sat there for quite some time in silence-the silence of two people who have long since abandoned the need for conversation. Each knew the other's thoughts as clearly as their own, yet they still were uncertain of another. Something new and unexpected and unexplained had crept into their relationship. It was foreign and inexplicable.

"We'll always have summer," Darcy said, after a very long time of silence. He stretched his hand to Lizzy's. She did not protest but allowed him to take it. "Not matter what. We'll always have summers in Hertfordshire. And we'll always have each other."

She looked at him. "Do you promise?"

"Yes. I promise." His gaze was level.

"Then I shall stop being such a dreadfully sentimental toady," she replied, with a hoydenish smile, "and race you back to Longbourne!"

"What?" he cried, taken quite aback by her sudden change in manner. It was too late; she had already hoisted herself over the railing and was flying helter-skelter through the shallow water of the pond. He watched as she scrambled up the bank, righting herself on the edge, ringing out her 'blasted' skirts, and, then, once properly situated, flying through the forest without the slightest hesitation.

There was no need for him to attempt to follow; he would never be able to catch her. She was too fast and too cunning. With a sigh, he glanced once more at the ship and at the 'pond', before climbing down and starting towards Netherfield.

* * *

The following afternoon, Darcy was riding down the avenue on a glorious chestnut beast he had purchased before leaving Derbyshire. The road was mostly deserted, which was unusual, considering the time, but Darcy was entirely too absorbed in his own thoughts to pay any heed to such an anomaly. He had promised to pay call upon Amelia Lawrence, but pesky Lizzy kept appearing in his conscience and he hadn't the fortitude to will her away. Therefore, he rode along, conflicted inwardly and emotionally and cursing Lizzy for her continued presence in his thoughts. 

An extraordinary sight startled him from his wonderings. At the turn of a bend in the road, a band of rag-tag highwaymen was holding up an elegant carriage, emblazoned with a crest of some sort.

"Oh dear," he said to himself, not bothering to wonder at the unusualness of a hold-up in Hertfordshire at such an hour. He quickly spurred his horse into a shaded grove of trees, obscured from view. It would be best to wait for a more opportune moment than to ride pell-mell into the midst of the ambush. He sat quietly, straining to hear.

… "you filthy, vile creatures! Get away!" cried a voice, in a tone alarmingly close to that of Caroline Bingley. "_**Oh**_! Get away! Louisa…Louisa! Do tell me you have not fainted!"

"She better have not!" said one highwayman, in a deep tone. "For we are not in the least bit frightening. Only a ninny would faint. Tell her to wake up. She is most likely faking it anyway."

Darcy managed to gain a view of the ambush. He groaned; it _**was**_ Caroline Bingley…accompanied by her sister Louisa and a rather corpulent man with a red face. _**He**_ did not appear to be of much help. As for the highwaymen, he could not make out anything but their backs. They did not appear to either large or burly, though; the 'leader' himself was a scrawny, scrap of a fellow, for all Darcy could see, thin and wiry and tall.

Said leader was apparently growing tired of Louisa's 'faint' stint.

"Let me administer some smelling salts," Caroline was insisting, in an arrogant tone.

"That won't be necessary," the head bandit said. He disappeared from sight for a moment and returned with a bucket full of cold water, retrieved from a nearby stream. This he promptly dumped upon Louisa, much to the amusement of his comrades and the anger of Caroline Bingley. Louisa sputtered to consciousness, her curls soggy and her turban ruined.

"Beasts!" shouted Caroline Bingley. "Reprobates!"

"My turban," cried Louisa, tears welling her eyes, "oh, my beautiful, beautiful turban!"

"Hurst!" shouted Caroline, "can you not _**do**_ something?"

The corpulent man, who appeared to have just been awoken from a nap, stretched lazily and scratched his head. "Care for some Madeira?" he finally managed to ask the bandits.

"Not at present," the leader replied affably, "although it is extraordinarily generous of you. Then again, it is no longer _**your**_ Madeira to offer. We are, after all, about to confiscate all of your possessions."

Hurst looked rather confused. "Might I have a drop of _**your**_ Madeira then?" he inquired finally.

The head bandit nodded. "We would be ever-so-glad to partake of some with you once we have completed the robbing of this carriage. Would you be so kind to step down now?"

"Are you mad?" screeched Caroline Bingley, launching her reticule at Hurst's head. "Of all the idiotic fools to marry, Louisa, why did you have to choose _**him**_?"

"He was rich," Louisa managed to offer.

Hurst did not look in the least insulted. He had already been so obliging to step down from the carriage. Caroline was not nearly so obedient.

"I refuse to step down!" she said. "This carriage is filled with _**my**_ valuables. I shall not budge!"

"Thank you for letting us know," the leader said. "Now be a good girl and step down. We do not wish to harm you."

Caroline turned up her nose and crossed her arms over her chest. Louisa, on the other hand, allowed Hurst to hand her down from the carriage.

"Don't be a fool, Caro," she informed her sister, cradling her ruined turban, "they are horrid highwaymen, and they will assuredly throw water on you if you are not obliging."

"Or worse," piped the leader brightly, contemplating other methods of torture, "we could always lead you into Meryton dressed as a peasant."

This statement had the desired effect. Caroline made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat but immediately removed herself from the interior of the carriage.

"Excellent. Most obliging of you, etc. etc." The lead bandit motioned to his henchmen, who immediately set about exploring the carriage. "I am afraid we will have to tie you up," the man informed his victims, "it is common procedure, you understand."

"Of course, of course," replied Hurst, nodding his head. "Might I have that drop of Madeira now…"

"Perhaps you should wait," the man suggested, "it is not very pleasant to drink Madeira whilst tied to a tree, after all."

"I could drink Madeira upside down," Hurst assured him.

"Very well." The highwayman motioned to one of his henchmen to fetch the Madeira (after Hurst kindly informed him of its location, along with some of Caroline's prized jewels).

Meanwhile, in the bushes, Darcy was still watching closely. Feeling the moment opportune, he rushed out from the foliage and made a grab for the lead bandit. The other highwaymen froze in their various pursuits, and, while the leader skillfully evaded his grasp for some moments, Darcy finally managed to catch him.

The leader gave a very decided sign but did not seem terribly downcast. He did not even bother to struggle and his cohorts did not appear to have any weapons or guns. They stopped their pillaging and leapt down from the carriage, scattering in all directions.

"Very well," said the leader, suddenly dropping the deep tone. Behind the slits of the mask, a pair of blueberry eyes twinkled mischievously up at him. Realization finally dawned upon Darcy, and he suddenly felt _**very**_ stupid. How could he have not known? Of course Elizabeth Bennet was masquerading as a highwayman. What could be more natural?

The occupants of the carriage were congratulating him; or, rather, Caroline was congratulating him. Louisa was still contemplating her turban, and Hurst seemed rather upset at being so long deprived his Madeira.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy. How wonderful!" Caroline was crying. "I knew you would save us. I _**knew**_ you would!"

"Then why on earth did you put up such a struggle?" demanded Lizzy, in her 'highwayman' tone. "You could have been more cunning and attempted to give this fellow an opening. You would have been saved a lot faster that way, you know."

Caroline ignored her. "I was so very frightened, Mr. Darcy."

Lizzy harrumphed.

"Stop you imp!" Darcy hissed, "you've botched the affair already. What a picture you present! Imagine who has seen you!"

"Quite a number of people, I assure you," Lizzy replied, "we have had _**much**_ success today."

"Oh, you have, have you?"

"Should not the authorities be called?" Caroline was asking. It was the first intelligent suggestion she had made all day.

Darcy glanced at her, then down at Lizzy.

"If you must," she said, not sounding in the least downcast.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip. "That will not be necessary, Miss. Bingley. I know how to deal with _**this**_ one."

"You are so _**very**_ brave," murmured Caroline, still _quite_ distraught from her terrifying ordeal.

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "I only happened along at a fortuitous moment."

"Fortuitous moment, my foot!" cried Lizzy, but Darcy had placed a hand over her mouth, so her exclamation was inaudible.

After overseeing the occupants back into their equipage and learning that they were destined for the home of Lady Piedmont, Darcy turned his attention to the culprit. Fortunately, Caroline had not guessed at her identity. The carriage continued onward, and Darcy lowered the 'criminal' to her feet. "Now Lizzy, could you not display a modicum of decorum? Or perhaps tact is a better word. Young ladies do not hold up carriages in the middle of the afternoon, after all. It is not in good taste."

Lizzy shrugged. "It suited my fancy. Besides, no one would have recognized me. And I would not have cared two monkeys if they had."

"Lizzy…"

"Do not get all sanctimonious with me, Darcy! You know as well as I do…"

"Enough! No excuses, I beg you. I am late enough as it is."

"Late for what may I inquire?"

"You may _**not**_ inquire," he countered.

She stared glumly up at him. "Well, I suppose that you have the right to remain silent, just as I have the right to remain _**here**_, holding up carriages."

Darcy grimaced. "So that is how you are to play the game, eh?"

Lizzy smiled sweetly.

"Wretched girl! I am off to Longbourne."

"Not to see me, of course," she managed lightly. Her expression betrayed none of the seriousness of the evening before. "Amelia awaits you this very moment, I am sure. She is pining away from lack of your _**stimulating**_ company."

"Oh, do be quiet, Lizzy. I wanted to see _you_."

'Don't lie, Darcy."

'Don't change the subject, Lizzy," he replied evenly. "I really don't know how I shall deal with you. Perhaps I shall tell your mother."

A look of real alarm now appeared in Lizzy's face. "You wouldn't!"

"I may!" he exclaimed obstinately, though he had not the slightest intention of doing so.

"Oh, Darcy! You _**wouldn't**_!" she repeated. "Mama will never let me out of the house again. She will force me to _embroider_!" A shudder shook her small frame. "Anything but that. _**Please**_. I could bear anything but that. Cut out my tongue. Brand me with a hot iron. Toss me in the Thames. But **do not** tell Mama!"

"Alright. If you promise not to hold up any more carriages."

Lizzy frowned but did not argue. "Done."

"Excellent." Darcy set her down upon her feet. "Now you may accompany me to Longbourne."

Lizzy shook her head. "No. I shan't. Not to watch you make sheep eyes at Amelia the entire afternoon. I am going to sort my loot."

Darcy caught her by the wrist before she could venture any further. "What _loot_?" he demanded. "Did you _really_ take things from carriages?"

"Yes," she replied defiantly, "but only from the local gentry. They're a bunch of prissed pigs anyway; I daresay they deserve it. Besides, they can part with a gold ring or two."

"Elizabeth Bennet!" he cried, "have you no sense? Imagine if someone had recognized you! Your reputation would be in ruins!"

"I _have_ no reputation," she informed him, "I am _**infamous**_, and infamous people do not need reputations. That is why they're infamous."

He put a hand to his head. "You will give me the things."

"No," she replied, "I shan't. I earned them fairly."

"Fairly?" he cried incredulously, "Lizzy, you _**stole**_ them."

"I stole them fairly," she countered, "and, besides, I was going to give them to the poorer families. Like Robin Hood. _**That**_ is noble…"

"It is not. You are missing the point entirely. Now hand them over…"

Lizzy shook her head, then stamped on his foot. With a shout, he released her wrist, and she went flying down the avenue, into the forest.

Leaving his horse tethered to a tree, Darcy followed, his toes throbbing with pain. "Come back here, Elizabeth!" he demanded, "come back here at once!"

A trill of laughter reached his ears. He could see the stream now and Lizzy running along its bank. She was running deliberately slowly, but Darcy paid no heed to her machinations. Within arm's reach of her, he hurled himself forward to catch her and ended up, instead, in the stream.

She stood above him, laughing, flushed with her victory. "That is what you get," she informed him, with all of her usual smug confidence.

She was gone quickly, skirting branches and bushes, leaving Darcy thoroughly wet, thoroughly miserable, and thoroughly ashamed in the stream, rivulets of water running down his forehead.

* * *

Chapter 4 in the works...I am excited to introduce Lady Piedmont. She is **_quite_** a character, I assure you...

Kudos! Lady Susan


	4. A Piece of Her Mind

_**It's been a long time, but I wrote furiously over Thanksgiving Break. I have about three chapters written now; four and five just need some revision before I'll post. I've given up on apologizing, because I do it much too frequently. Lady Piedmont is undergoing a major character change, by the way…but I won't say anymore because that would spoil the surprise. Thanks for being so patient. At last…chapter 4!**_

* * *

_**A Piece of Her Mind**_

Lady Olivia Piedmont was something of an enigma to the neighborhood of Hertfordshire. Her history was shaded, and the exact facts of her life had yet to be puzzled out by the town gossips. The little information that _**was **_known about her was scant. She had been born Olivia Monteclaire, had married Sir Theodore Piedmont, and had inherited his estate after his untimely and rather unexpected demise. Lady Piedmont informed the world that her husband of one year had died of natural causes, but she would not specify further. Therefore, the world decided Lady Piedmont had poisoned him. Or pushed him down a flight of stairs. It really all depended upon who was telling the story.

Perhaps more mystifying than Sir Theodore Piedmont's death was his financial situation. Before his death, he had been under rather dire financial straits. Afterwards, however, his innumerable debts and payments had simply vanished into thin air. Or, rather, they had passed to his younger brother Arnold. Whatever the reason, Lady Piedmont was no longer plagued by creditors.

It was all very…unnatural. Lady Piedmont, who stood to inherit nothing, disappeared into the country for an extended period of time. Not long, after, however, she reappeared in London for the Season, setting herself up in moderate style. Although she appeared to be quite affluent, however, her financial circumstances were still uncertain. By the end of the Season, she had disappeared again…this time to Hertfordshire.

The place she had rented-Haye Park-was a large, distinguished old manor house just on the outskirts of Meryton, and she had apparently furnished it in 'cracking' style-unusual for a widow who was supposed to be prostrate with grief and penniless, besides. Lady Piedmont was quite the contrary; she had cast aside her widow's weeds in far shorter a time period than deemed necessary and was apparently, by setting herself up at Haye Park, prepared to enjoy herself immensely. The country life would certainly be dull after the London social whirl, but Lady Piedmont did not seem to mind.

Although Mrs. Bennet pronounced her to be a slightly 'loose' character, she was one of the first women of the neighborhood to pay call upon her. To the chagrin of her second-eldest, she forced all of her daughters-and Amelia-to accompany her. If she was to ruin her character, then her family would go down with her.

Lizzy hated paying social calls. She hated Haye Park. She hated Lady Piedmont, who had been the subject of kitchen conversation for weeks. Most of all, however, she hated Amelia Lawrence. She did not particularly know _**why **_she hated Amelia Lawrence, but she hated her, just the same. Ever since Darcy's return to Netherfield, he had spent every waking moment with Amelia…walking with Amelia, dancing attendance upon Amelia, complimenting Amelia on her superb arrangement of flowers, begging Amelia to rest so that she would not become fatigued (this was particularly exasperating, as Lizzy well knew her cousin had the stamina and will-power of a horse, not the delicate china tea-cup she pretended). It was enough to make any educated and intelligent human-being want to tear out their hair in anger. Lizzy had never seen Darcy so milk-soppish before, and she detested this side of him. He was becoming a lovelorn romantic idiot, which was extremely horrible, at least to Lizzy's mind, and she wished she could kick her cousin back to the small hovel she had come from, never to see her again. That, however, was impossible, as was getting out of the call to Lady Piedmont. Mrs. Bennet was bound and determined to present her _**entire **_family. Therefore, to Haye Park did Miss. Elizabeth Bennet go.

The house was _**very **_grand, as the Bennets soon discovered. Lady Piedmont had made it over in the most tasteful and elegant style, and everywhere there was gold and marble and gilding and silk. Mrs. Bennet nearly swooned with envy, while Elizabeth loudly informed her family that it was all 'most detestable'. She would prefer a tent outdoors any day to such unnecessary odds and ends. That being said, she accidentally broke a vase.

"You are a stupid, stupid girl," Amelia informed her airily, as the manservant cleared the mess away and lead the family to the receiving room.

"At least I'm not an empty-headed, self-absorbed hen-wit!" snapped Lizzy, her eyes glinting fiercely.

Amelia tsked. "Poor baby. You haven't any notion of manners, have you?" And she ostensibly patted Lizzy on the head. For her troubles, she received a swift kick in the shins. Too ladylike to scream, she sucked in her cheeks and glared daggers at her cousin.

"Serves you right," Lizzy taunted, sticking her tongue out.

They were situated in the receiving room, where the manservant cast a worried glance about the room to take an inventory of all the priceless antiques that could be easily broken. Lizzy apologized to him and promised to attempt some restraint.

"I am sorry," she said, "and I shan't break anything else. Or at least, I'll _**try **_not to break anything else."

The manservant scuttled out of the room to fetch his mistress, leaving the Bennets and Amelia to admire the furnishings.

"Lovely, lovely," remarked Mrs. Bennet, casting a well-trained eye about the place, "what a beautiful room. Such a pity that the attics are drafty."

Lizzy waspishly informed her mother to save her enthusiasm for Lady Piedmont.

Nettled, Mrs. Bennet told her daughter to hold her tongue.

At that moment, Lady Piedmont entered the room. She was a tall woman, remarkably pretty and graceful. Clad in a long silk gown of a very bright color, she was expensively-though tastefully-dressed, and had a pleasant, if not slightly arrogant, countenance. She was a stately woman, that was certain, and she carried herself well.

Mrs. Bennet almost felt the need to curtsy. She did not, however, merely rushed into a babble of incoherent greetings, in which she gushed about the furniture, the house, and everything else wonderful and obsequious that came to mind.

Lizzy sighed and slid deeper into the cushions of the elegant sofa. She had not desire to further an acquaintance with Lady Piedmont, or to sit two hours in some grand home and listen to her mother rave on and on about the cut-glass chandeliers. She wanted to climb into her ship and sulk the afternoon away, perhaps over a volume of the adventure novels she had become fond of, eating blueberry bread. _**That **_would have been the ideal way to spend the afternoon. Instead, she found herself in the opulent residence of some inconsequential nobody who considered herself a somebody. Lizzy wondered if she had any credentials, such as medals of honor from the Napoleonic Wars or other such distinguishments.

"Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst send their regards. They are staying with me for a time, you understand, and arrived yesterday. They would have greeted you this afternoon, but a very troubling event occurred yesterday afternoon that greatly upset them," Lady Piedmont was saying.

Lizzy smiled to herself.

"Pray, Lady Piedmont, whatever could it have been?" asked Mrs. Bennet anxiously.

Amelia leaned forward in a curious manner, while Jane turned wide, blue eyes upon her ladyship.

"Highwaymen," Lady Piedmont answered. "The poor girls were attacked by highwaymen. Louisa's husband, Mr. Hurst, was quite overpowered. If not for the intervention of Mr. Darcy-I am sure you are acquainted with him-they would surely have been robbed of everything."

"How ghastly!" cried Amelia, "but wonderful of Mr. Darcy to intervene. He is _**such **_a gentleman."

Mrs. Bennet looked fondly at her niece. "Yes, and he has shown such an interest in dear Amelia. Practically besotted with her."

Lizzy made a retching noise, which earned her the opprobrium of her mother.

Lady Piedmont had moved on. "I am enjoying Hertfordshire greatly, Mrs. Bennet. It is beautiful country, and _**such **_a welcome change from London life."

"I find London life to be exciting," Amelia said, although she had never been to London, "the whirl and constant motion. I cannot imagine how you could leave it."

Lady Piedmont's eyes narrowed. "London's praises are far over-sung," she snapped, "I daresay you would understand, had you the wisdom of years."

Realizing her mistake, Amelia promptly shut her mouth.

"I agree with you," Mrs. Bennet hastily put it, to make up for Amelia's faux paus, "though I have never been long in London, I can imagine that it grows tiresome."

Lizzy did not contribute, because she had no desire to join the conversation. She glanced out the window and gave a very exaggerated sigh.

This sigh attracted the attention of Lady Piedmont. "What is your name, child?" she asked suddenly, her interest piqued.

Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips angrily and glared at her daughter.

"Elizabeth," Lizzy answered coolly, "though it is a dull, tedious name. I am only proud of it because of Queen Elizabeth I. I should have preferred to been named Hawk."

Mrs. Bennet turned white, while Amelia smirked complacently. Jane, meanwhile, was starring dumbfounded at her sister, amazed at her audacity.

"Hawk?" inquired Lady Piedmont, rather shocked. "And why that particular name?"

"It is daring and unusual," Lizzy promptly replied. "I daresay everyone secretly wishes their name was Hawk."

"Everyone _except _me," Lady Piedmont answered. She turned to Mrs. Bennet, as if to end the conversation but was stopped by Lizzy.

"Only someone without a speck of imagination would say that."

"Elizabeth Bennet!" shouted her mother, regaining her tongue.

"Lizzy!" a horrified Jane cried simultaneously.

"No," Lady Piedmont interrupted, "let her speak. I do admire a straight-forward young lady, however uncouth. So you think I have no imagination?" She asked in a dismissive way, as though taking the entire situation as a joke.

Lizzy nodded. "Anyone with a house as grand as this has no imagination. Why, you have everything at your beck and call…how _**can **_you imagine anything?"

"What if I do not wish to…to _imagine _things, as you refer to it?" Lady Piedmont responded stiffly. Her eyes were rather troubled and she cast them nervously about the room, avoiding Lizzy's steady gaze.

"Do you want to know what I think about you, Lady Piedmont?" Lizzy asked suddenly.

Lady Piedmont did not answer. Her fingers twitched nervously. She attempted a laugh.

"I think that you are hiding something. Something you do not want anyone to discover. So you purchase an old, decrepit house and make it up in the most elaborate style possible. And all because you have no imagination. Because, if you did have imagination, you would sailed across to America on the nearest vessel and made a new life for yourself-and your secret-in the West or some other wild region. That is why I would have done. But no…you insist upon denying the truth. I do not like people who deny the truth. They are the worst sorts of liars." Lizzy stood up. "And I am tired of paying calls. I shall do so no longer, Mama. This has been a waste of an afternoon, and I should have said so earlier." She did not curtsey to Lady Piedmont. She simply ignored her.

Lady Piedmont was very white and very quiet. She said nothing as Lizzy straightened her plain skirt and exited the room. Nor did she say anything in response to Mrs. Bennet's effusive apologies. Her eyes were riveted to the window, where she could see Miss. Elizabeth Bennet flying harum-scarum down the grand driveway towards the forest, and it was Miss. Elizabeth Bennet who occupied her thoughts the remainder of the afternoon, for it was Miss. Elizabeth Bennet who had come closest to the truth.

Lady Piedmont had had her experience with town gossips and found them all to be harmless creatures with nothing better to do with their time. In Elizabeth, however, she sensed danger, for the girl was headstrong, stubborn, and dismissive of societal customs. Therefore, Elizabeth was a threat to her entire existence. And something had to be done…

* * *

When Mrs. Bennet arrived home, she immediately set out to find her daughter, who had caused her such an agony of humiliation that afternoon that only the worst and most gruesome punishment would suffice. Smug Amelia, following in the wake of her aunt's voluminous skirts as they swished down the corridor towards the kitchens, could not help but feel satisfied that her detestably unrefined cousin was about to reap her rewards. 

The servants, in the midst of preparing dinner, fell back against the wall as Mrs. Bennet entered the room.

"I am looking for Elizabeth," she said, without further ado. Her voice was crisp and dictatorial. "If she is hiding here, which I suspect is likely, I wish to see her immediately. If you will not give her up, the consequences will be _great_."

Brave Betsy stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron and returning Mrs. Bennet's gaze. "We have not seen the child," she replied steadily, "she did not come down for teatime, as she normally does. I sent Gerry to the boat to see if she was there, but she is not. We are just as worried about her as you are."

"Worried!" Mrs. Bennet laughed. "No. I am not worried about the imp! She has caused me pangs of the worst humiliation. Once I set eyes on the girl, she will…"

Betsy held up her hand. "She is not down here, Mrs. Bennet. I would tell you otherwise."

"Are you sure?" inquired Amelia, who had been stealthily searching the place. "Elizabeth does so love to mingle amongst the common folk, such as yourself. And she is _**so **_particularly fond of the kitchens." She grimaced slightly at the large, cozy apartment, filled with smoke from the kitchen fire.

Betsy straightened. "She is not here, Miss, I do assure you." Her gaze was steely, making Amelia fidget uncomfortably. "You'd best fetch Mr. Bennet, ma'am," she said, addressing her mistress, "he will know what best be done."

"He will protect the wretched girl!" screeched Mrs. Bennet, but she swept from the room, Amelia following like a spaniel, and turned in the direction of his library. Everyone in the kitchens could hear her upstairs, banging loudly on his sanctuary door.

"Quickly now," Betsy hissed, to a flour barrel in the corner. "Hurry, Lizzy. They'll soon be down again."

The flour basket moved side-to-side, before the top clattered to the ground and a brown head appeared. "Clever thinking, Betsy. I appreciate your help." Lizzy, dusted with flour, smiled her thanks at the faithful maid, while Gerry helped her out of the barrel and to her feet.

"What's to be done, dear?" inquired Rose, joining Betsy's side, a wooden ladle in hand. "The mistress will certainly not stop searching for you."

"I must get a letter to Papa," Lizzy replied, thinking out loud, "he must be informed of my plans too. I know he will protect me from Mama and Amelia." She looked about the kitchen for a piece of paper. Gerry obliged her by fetching a scrap of parchment and an old quill. She sat down at the kitchen table and began to write, while Betsy and Rose kept their eyes riveted on the door.

"There," Lizzy said, after a few minutes had passed. "Gerry must be the bearer. Take it to Papa, Gerry, when I am gone, and take care that no one sees you."

"Where shall you go, eh?" Betsy asked sarcastically. "They will search the ship immediately. As for your room, well, no doubt it is already locked up. And we cannot harbor you in the kitchen. Mrs. Bennet should find you out soon enough. Besides, you wouldn't have any freedom at all."

"I am going to Netherfield," Lizzy announced. "It is not so far, and Darcy will keep me hidden. The place is so large, and Mama wouldn't dare search it against his word."

"Oh! Lizzy, you mustn't!" exclaimed Rose, her eyes wide. "Think of the impropriety. You cannot stay with Mr. Darcy. You are a _young lady _now, not a child of eight. It would not do at all!"

"Fiddlesticks!" cried Lizzy stoutly. "Since when have I cared about propriety? Besides, I haven't a scrap of reputation left anyway, considering that I was so very rude to Lady Piedmont this afternoon. But she deserved it."

"I agree with Rose," Betsy said, "but I think that Lizzy is determined to go to Netherfield, and I shall not stop her." She glanced at her young mistress and ruffled her unruly curls. "It is getting dark though, dearie, and the weather is turning sour. Look at those clouds in the west, eh. How will you manage that?"

"And it's three miles to Netherfield," Rose added, "it will take you at least an hour's walk to get there. And the storm is approaching quickly."

"I don't mind the rain," Lizzy replied, "so long as it is _**only **_rain. And three miles is hardly a walk. I bet I can make it in under an hour. Darcy will surely take me in, and everything will be fine. I can stay away from Longbourne until Mama's temper cools, and she runs out of ways to torture me. Then, I shall return."

The servants exchanged worried looks but said nothing else against her plans.

"You'd best hurry then," Betsy said. Rose was collecting a basket of food items and Gerry was taking his heavy woolen cloak down from the hook near the back-door. He handed it to her shyly.

"I cannot take your cloak, Gerry," Lizzy told him gently, knowing how much he prized it.

He shook his head adamantly and pushed it into her arms.

"Well then," she answered, "thank you very much." It was much too big for her, but she made do and tied the strings securely under her chin.

"Take my bonnet," Betsy said. Lizzy obediently slipped the ancient straw creation on her head. "And these boots." She donned them cheerfully.

She was at the window quickly, making sure the yard was clear. Then, accepting Rose's basket of goods, kisses from both the maids, and a crushing embrace from Gerry, Lizzy was out the door and down the road, racing the storm to Netherfield Park.

* * *


	5. The Run Away

**A Longish Author's Note:**

_**Well, I could not resist the urge to post again. Sudden, I know! I just finished editing it, so…here it is! Oh, but I wanted to answer some of your reviews before I began. You don't know how much they make my day! Constructive criticism helps especially. Anyway, I just wanted to answer a few reviews. Don't bother reading if you're not interested; just skip ahead to the bottom : )!  
**_

_**I Don't Wear Bonnets (love the name, by the way: ) ): Don't be too worried about Lizzy. I completely understand your worries about her immaturity and recklessness. As much as I know she needs to grow up, however, I am just so attached to her as she is. I think, in the end, Lizzy is going to be a tad out of character…wilder and more carefree than the Jane Austen's Elizabeth. I just needed to put my spin on things. But, don't worry, she will grow up…eventually. : )**_

_**Advo: I really like your idea about ending this second story with them at odds. Trust me, I'll keep it in consideration! **_

_**Things-One-and-Thing-Two: Thanks for the grammar check! I find, no matter how hard I try to edit, things always slip through! **_

_**Mockingbyrd's Tune: I'm glad if it reminded you a little of Anne of Green Gables (wonderful, WONDERFUL book, by the way). Sorry about the kicking in the shins thing. No doubt it was immature. But I could not resist the urge to add it in. Trust Lizzy to be immature! **_

_**Marshie12: I agree. Amelia should be shipped to Canada…and soon! Excellent suggestion.**_

_**Thanks to everyone else! Your reviews keep me going! (No endorsement intended, thank you very much : )…I am not dropping hints! ; ) )**_

_**Okay…without further ado…here is chapter 5. In record time too, I might add.**_

* * *

_**The Run-Away**_

Darcy was in the library, reading a volume of history and listening to the wind that howled about the house, when he heard the butler stirring in the hall.

"What is it, Barnard?" Darcy called. He stretched and stood up, depositing his volume on a side-table.

"There is someone at the door," was the answer.

Darcy laughed. "In this weather? Impossible. It must be your imagination."

It was not, however. Darcy exited the library and made his way down the dark hallway only to find Barnard assisting a sodden creature inside.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Barnard remarked dryly. Darcy was almost entirely sure he rolled his eyes.

"That really isn't necessary, you old windbag," Lizzy remarked fondly, glancing up at the sardonic butler with whom she had finally managed to forge a friendship.

Darcy laughed at the sight of her; she was bedraggled and soaked through. The straw bonnet on her head was entirely saturated with water, her cloak was lopsided and caked in mud, and her rain-boots were entirely too big.

"Hello, Darcy," she said brightly. "I am glad to see you. As a matter of fact, I have never been _quite _so glad to see Netherfield Park before."

"Lizzy…" Darcy warned, expecting immediate explanation. He was not about to be taken in by superfluous and circuitous conversation, a method she knew well.

Lizzy sighed. "Alright, if you must know, I am running away. From home."

"Running away from home?" Darcy repeated, not surprised.

"Yes. I should have done it much sooner, but now I have an excuse."

"Do you?"

"Yes. A good one."

Darcy sighed again. "I am in agony to hear it, Lizzy, but I think you'd best go upstairs and dry off. Barnard," he said, addressing the butler, "go and fetch Letty, please. Tell her to light a fire in one of the rooms and try to find something acceptable for this ragamuffin to wear."

"Don't take such a superior tone, Darcy," Lizzy reprimanded him, "for it was a great piece of fun, and you would have done just as I had, if you had been there."

"I highly doubt it," he remarked dryly. "But keep it to yourself until you're warm and dry and presentable."

"I'm never presentable," she returned, as Barnard led her up the staircase.

Darcy rolled his eyes but did not argue.

* * *

A quarter-of-an-hour later, Lizzy was dressed in one of her old gowns (she always had several on hand at Netherfield) and downstairs in the library before a blazing fire, a cup of warm chocolate in her hand. Darcy was seated across from her, listening to her account of the afternoon with amusement.

"And so I came here," she finished. "It was quite natural, you understand."

"I am glad that you came, Lizzy. I should think it the wisest decision."

"Of course. I originally though of the boat, but Mama was sure to send somewhere there. And the woods were hardly practical, considering the storm. No, I knew you would take me in." She drained the last of her chocolate. "This is a terrible scrape, you understand."

He nodded. "Considering what you said to Lady Piedmont, it is a terrible scrape, indeed." His amused tone became scolding. Lizzy scowled at the change; Darcy had never been so sanctimonious before. "Whatever possessed you to say that to her, Lizzy? Don't you know she's a peer? She has connections. And very good ones, at that."

"Since when do you care about peers and connections?" she snapped. "I certainly don't. Never did. And neither did you…"

"Lizzy…" he said, attempting to be cajoling.

She turned her head. "She deserved it, that's what. I was sure you would see that. She _is _hiding something, and I detest people who refuse to be open…so I reprimanded her. That's all."

"You have been listening to entirely too much town gossip," Darcy said. "I highly doubt Lady Piedmont is hiding anything in that house. There is no mystery attached, whatever everyone says."

"It would take a fool not to see that she's hiding something in that poky old mansion. I _know _it! Her eyes darted around the entire time we were there, as if she were making sure we did not look too closely."

Darcy shrugged. "Perhaps that is just her nature."

"Perhaps she is hiding something," Lizzy insisted.

"I never knew you to be such a fanciful goose, Lizzy."

"And I never knew you to be such a pretentious lout!" she retorted sharply.

He stopped abruptly and looked at her. She squirmed under his gaze and refused to meet his eyes. "This is about Amelia, isn't it?" he asked suddenly. "You ran away because of Amelia."

"No!" exclaimed Lizzy, although she knew this was partly true. "I ran away because Mama was sure to lock me in my room if I did not apologize to Lady Piedmont for what I said. And I have no desire to apologize to Lady Piedmont for what I said because Lady Piedmont deserved it. I spoke the truth, and people shouldn't be punished for speaking the truth." This came out in a very rapid and incoherent manner, which meant that Lizzy was nervous.

"You say that Lady Piedmont is hiding something. Well, _**you **_are hiding something, Lizzy. And it involves Amelia. I know you too well."

Lizzy sighed, realizing that she had, in a sense, lost. "I dislike your infatuation with my cousin, that is all."

"Dislike my infatuation with your cousin?" repeated Darcy, with an eyebrow raised. "So now you are reduced to formal speaking?"

"_Must _you be so provoking?" she questioned. Her expression was set. "Do you not realize how difficult it is for me to talk to you about _it_?"

"_It_?" he asked, unable to suppress a smile.

Lizzy flushed a deep crimson. "You know what it is," she muttered, through clenched teeth.

"No. Pray, enlighten me."

Again, she sighed. "Love, Darcy. Are you such a dim-witted fool? You are in love with Amelia, or so you act. And it bothers me, because I should hate to loose your friendship."

"There is no danger of that," he said, reaching out a hand. She allowed him to take her brown paw without complaint. She was too deep in thought to protest.

"I dislike the person you have become, Darcy," she said, finally. "You used to be free, uninhibited…reckless, even. But lately you have grown up…and you preach and scold and…"

"Lizzy…I am twenty-one. I must grow up. You must too." His voice was serious now. "I have responsibilities I must attend to. I cannot _play _anymore."

"But you can!" she protested, shaking his hand. "You can. That is why you come here. I thought we understood one another!"

"We do!" he said, "I understand you better than anyone. Sometimes, I think I understand you better than _you _understand yourself." He smiled slightly. "And I know that my infatuation, as you call it, with Amelia is scary and different for you…but I cannot help it, Lizzy. Surely you must see that?"

"You can too help it," she retorted childishly, folding her arms across her chest. "I expressly warned you. She is pretty, that is all."

"I think she has more than just a pretty face, Lizzy. But if you are afraid that she will come between us, then you are wrong. _Nothing _can come between us. You are my best friend in the entire world." He squeezed her hand gently.

Lizzy shrugged. "If you must continue to pay court to her, I shan't interfere. But she is more devious than you would suspect, and she and I hate one another passionately. Could you not fall in love with someone else? It would be infinitely more convenient."

He laughed. "My heart will, unfortunately, not follow the dictates of _your _wants. Nor am I in love with Amelia…yet. But, if it happens, you will be the first to know."

"I think, if that be the case, _she _should be the first to know," Lizzy pointed out, "but, nevertheless, you may tell me. But do not lose your heart too hastily, Darcy. That is what Mama is always saying. Then again, she should wish us to loose our hearts as hastily as possible if a rich gentleman happened along."

"Be kinder to your mother. She is not _entirely _bad."

Lizzy glanced at him incredulously, to which he mended his sentence by saying, "Okay, perhaps she is. She _is _your mother, though."

Rain began to lash against the windowpanes, and Darcy noted the clock above the mantle. "It is entirely too late, Lizzy," he said.

"I am tired," she agreed, standing up and stretching. "It has been a very trying day."

"And your father knows…"

"Yes," she said, "I wrote him a letter. I do have some sense, you know."

He laughed. "Entirely too much of it."

They parted upstairs in the hall-Lizzy toward her familiar room and Darcy toward his.

* * *

Lizzy awoke to the sound of lightning. Rain was lashing against her window-pane and the wind howled angrily against the shutters. She closed her eyes, willing herself back to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep would not come.

Elizabeth was not afraid of anything…except thunderstorms. No one knew of her strange and extraordinary fear of bad weather, for she had taken great efforts to keep it hidden. She had been afraid of thunder and lightning since she was a very small child, and, although she never understood the reason, she believed it had something to do with being left outside during a fierce storm when she was a very young girl. At Longbourne, she had Jane to curl up next to for comfort…but at Netherfield, which was huge and drafty, she had no one. This feeling of loneliness she could not combat. Something had to be done.

So, wrapping her arms about her, she tip-toed out of her room and across the hall…

"Darcy!" she hissed, entering quietly through the door. His room was as familiar as hers; she had often crept in there when she slept over at Netherfield, to tell ghost stories and play cards under the covers. It was large and spacious, though the furniture was not grand. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dog-eared volumes that Darcy had filched from his father's library. "Darcy!" she hissed again. The storm was worsening, as was her fear.

A mumble sounded from his bed. She crept over to his pillow and said his name again, louder this time. He awoke with a start, muttering and mumbling and waving his arms about madly. Lizzy was too frightened to be amused, however.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He did not seem surprised to see her. Unbeknownst to Lizzy, he had known her secret fear for quite some time.

"I'm frightened," she said. "At Longbourne, I have Jane. Here, I have you."

He could not contain a smile. "I knew you were afraid of _something_…"

She promptly hit him with a pillow. The smile evaporated from his face. "What was that for?"

"That smug smile on your face!" she snapped. "Could you at least wait to gloat when the storm is over?"

He nodded. "Of course."

She thanked him, before climbing in the bed beside him. This was not unusual or uncomfortable for either party; they had done it millions of times as children.

"It's not so bad, you know," Darcy told her. "You amaze me, really. You're not afraid of pirates or highwaymen or London society or Lady Piedmont or even your mother…but a thunderstorm!"

"I know it's childish," she muttered crossly, burrowing under the covers, "but I can't help it. Do you think I enjoy creeping about Netherfield at night, scared out of my wits?"

"Probably more than you're willing to admit," he chided.

He received no reply, and he thought that she had fallen asleep. She had not, however. She was starring up at the ceiling.

"I wonder if everyone is worried about me," she said.

He shrugged. "No doubt they are."

"I wrote Papa not to tell them anything."

"I am sure that your secret is safe."

"It is wicked of me, is it not, to take delight in causing concern?"

"No. Selfish, perhaps. But you _**are **_a selfish imp."

Lizzy did not particularly like being referred to as selfish. "Everyone has their faults," she counteracted.

"Yes. Yours happen to be selfishness, obstinacy, and a horrible want for refinement." Lizzy knew that he was smiling in the darkness, so she was not offended.

"Yours are reserve, arrogance, and a horrible want of _**self-confidence**_" she replied sarcastically.

He laughed. "Well put."

"I am going to bed now," she said, "insulted, offended, and upset."

"May your dreams be sweet," he taunted.

She fell asleep resisting the urge to box his ears.

* * *


	6. Macrinus Diadumenianus

_**You know what, you guys are great. Really, really great. Your reviews absolutely made my day. **_

_**This is a long chapter. I was originally going to post it as two, but I thought that I might as well post something long for a change. All of my other chapters have been relatively short. **_

_**Thanks so much for the reviews. I try to take everything you say into consideration. Then again, I have to stay true to who I want my characters to be. But I finally have an outline for this story and the third story. Don't worry. It will get…interesting, to say the least. **_

_**Thanks again, everyone! You all are the best: )**_

* * *

Chapter 6

_Macrinus_ _Diadumenianus _

Elizabeth stayed three days at Netherfield Park, during which time she and Darcy lived like savages. Rejecting convention and custom, they settled for constructing a tepee in the library, toasting muffins over the roaring fire, and debating every issue they could possibly consider. They ate when they were hungry and slept when they were tired; talked when they felt sociable and were silent when they felt otherwise. Things were not done chronologically, as both had lost track of time.

"This is a delightful way to live," Lizzy announced, near the end of her stay. "If I were rich, I should live like this always."

"In a tepee on your library floor?" Darcy inquired.

"Yes. Eating with my elbows and getting jam all over the carpet, without a complaint from anyone."

"When you put it that way, I must agree," he answered seriously.

"I shall have to go home, though."

He nodded. "Yes. Your father has written me a letter, and it appears that your entire family is quite concerned over your welfare. Either you return, or he must resort to informing them of your whereabouts."

This did not appeal to Lizzy at all. She wished to return home a hero and create an elaborate story of her three-day stay in the woods. If her family knew that she had lived comfortably and freely at Netherfield Park, then there would be no glory to her return.

"I will go home tomorrow," she announced. And that was that. She departed Netherfield the following morning, leaving Darcy to himself. He ordered a carriage for her, but she was insistent upon walking.

"Carriage, indeed!" she exclaimed, when he had suggested it. "How on earth could I explain a carriage!"

She departed in high spirits and promised to return soon.

"I shall pay you a suitable call sometime!" she cried, as she turned down the drive towards the field.

Darcy waved and laughed, well knowing that Elizabeth Bennet would defy the day when she entered the sitting room and referred to him as _**Mr. Darcy**_.

* * *

"Lizzy!" cried Lydia. She was the first person Lizzy met when she turned into the Longbourne drive. She came flying down the path-a pretty, plump cherub of 14-to meet her sister, Kitty hard on her heels. Skipping greetings and exclamations of any sort, Lydia cried, "You will never guess!"

"I will too!" Lizzy said, "there is a ball."

"How did you know?" Lydia cried, clutching her side and skidding to halt before her sister.

"Because the only time you bother to speak to me is when there is a ball," Lizzy said promptly. "And I don't care two pigs together that there is one. _**I'm**_ not going."

"But of course you are!" Kitty cried. "Why should you not?"

"Because I haven't the slightest desire to."

Kitty and Lydia exchanged incredulous glances. "I would sell my soul to go," Lydia said.

"And I would sell my best ribbons!" Kitty cried.

Lizzy laughed. "You haven't a soul to sell, Lydia," she said, addressing the youngest, "and you would not part with those ribbons on pain of death, Kitty," she informed the second youngest. "You're two of the silliest girls in England, the pair of you."

"Mama will force you to go," Lydia said.

"Mama cannot force me to do anything."

"Oh, but she forced you to call upon Lady Piedmont."

"That was different."

Lydia could not see how it was different, but she did not argue because Mrs. Bennet herself appeared around the corner.

"Elizabeth!" Mrs. Bennet cried, racing to embrace her daughter. Lizzy felt a pair of arms about her, lifting her high into the air. It was the most affection her mother had ever shown her. Lizzy thought it extremely gratifying. She did not, however, much care for her mother's crushing embrace.

"Hello, Mama. I am very sorry that I ran away," she said diplomatically.

"_**Where **_have you _**been**_?" her mother asked, releasing her five minutes later. Lizzy was only too delighted to inform her of her arduous stay in the woods, braving enormous black bears and savages. Overjoyed at the return of the daughter she thought she had lost, Mrs. Bennet happily drunk in the lies.

Eyes welling with tears, she led Elizabeth inside, where she was attacked by the rest of the family, who alternately cried and scolded and kissed her. Mr. Bennet patted her on the head and winked, Jane buried her head onto her shoulder, Mary gave her a stern lecture, and Amelia wrinkled her nose in dismay. Altogether, it was a successful homecoming.

The rest of the day passed in such a delightful fashion, with Elizabeth as the center of everyone's attention.

Mrs. Bennet had ordered all of her favorites prepared for supper. Punishment, it seemed, was the last thing on her mind.

Over generous servings of plum pudding and rolls with jam and turkey and candied carrots, Mrs. Bennet introduced the topic of the ball that Lydia had mentioned earlier. Lizzy, who had considered supper, until that point, a wonderful affair, quickly reversed her opinion. Not even the blueberry bread lessened her chagrin at the table conversation.

"It is being held next week at Haye Park," said Mrs. Bennet, the general informer, "and I am sure it will be a very grand affair."

"Indeed, it is sure to be," Amelia inserted, "for Lady Piedmont does everything in such a style."

Lizzy made a face at Jane. Her sister, however, was too enraptured with the prospect of a ball to be amused.

"It is a good thing that your new dresses have arrived," said Mrs. Bennet. "Jane, that blue satin will do splendidly for the occasion. We must have you looking your best, you know. All those handsome, rich, young gentleman!" Her eyes sparkled. "I remember when I was a girl…"

It was at this point that Lizzy lost interest entirely. When dinner was cleared away, she excused herself to her room. There was no point in listening to Mrs. Bennet's effusions over her girlhood, she thought as she climbed the stairs three at a time.

Her room was as she left it, she was relieved to observe. Jane had remembered to feed Maid Marion and all the other members of her menagerie. The rest of the room was in the neat shape she had left it in. Trust Jane to keep things in order.

Jane herself entered soon after, mind apparently still fixated on the approaching ball by the glazed look in her eyes.

"Oh, really, Jane!" exclaimed Lizzy, exasperated, "could you return to Earth for a minute?"

Jane started. "Excuse me?"

Lizzy shook her head. "I was asking if you would dare me to jump from the roof."

"Oh, Lizzy! Stop being ridiculous." Jane fell onto the bed beside her sister, laughing.

"Did you miss me dreadfully?" Elizabeth wanted to know. She hugged her knees.

"Yes. Very much. It was lonely without you. Everyone was worried."

"Except Amelia," Lizzy put in, "she's never worried about anyone except herself."

Jane frowned. "Do be kinder, Lizzy. She is not _wholly _bad."

Elizabeth did not apologize. "She's bad enough." She scowled at her knees, her face darkening.

"Are you alright, Lizzy?" Jane asked. Her gaze was probing.

Elizabeth hated to deceive her sister, nor could she give away her feelings. Unlike girls, she was not inclined to such displays of confidence. "Really, I'm fine, Jane."

"But three days in the woods…" said Jane, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Lizzy waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing such an 'adventure'. "It was so bad," she said, "and I enjoyed myself immensely. But I'm tired, so I think that I'll go to bed." She did not mean to sound dismissive, but she _was _tired and wished to avoid further questions.

Jane rose, her eyes still questioning. "Alright," she said. Her voice was gentle, and Lizzy could see that she had genuinely missed her. This emotion touched her.

"We can talk later," she said, in a conciliatory manner.

Jane smiled hesitantly, before departing to gather some things.

Lizzy turned over on her side. For the first time that evening, she felt genuinely horrid about the 'joke' she had played upon her family. The trusting look in her sister's eyes had been enough to convince her that Jane was fully convinced of her adventure in the woods. And for some reason, Elizabeth could not simply laugh away what she had done.

What was wrong with her?

* * *

The following Saturday, the Bennet house was topsy-turvy with excitement. The evening of Lady Piedmont's ball had finally arrived, too soon for some.

Amidst the harried preparations for Lady Piedmont's ball, Lizzy entered her mother's dressing room covered in black spots. Mrs. Bennet was all astonishment. Never before had she seen a girl covered in black spots. Indeed, she was so astonished and so afraid that she almost fainted away. Lizzy, however, soon put her to rights.

"It is quite alright, Mama. I have researched my disease," Lizzy said, when Mrs. Bennet suggested calling for the doctor. "It is only a rare tropical illness called _Macrinus_ _Diadumenianus _(Lizzy knew her Roman emperors). I knew that I should contract it from those pomegranate seeds you warned me about yesterday." She was referring to the seeds she had been alternately spitting across the meadow with Elton and eating the other day.

"Is it very serious, my dear child?" Mrs. Bennet asked, backing into a corner of her vanity, so as to avoid contamination.

"Yes," Lizzy replied dismally, "I am afraid it is. It would be a mistake for me to attend the ball this evening. I had best remain in my bed until your return. If I am not better, you may call for the doctor. But I do not think much hope is left."

Mrs. Bennet clutched at her throat. "Oh, Elizabeth! Surely not…"

"Do not fret, Mama. I shall endure. You must not miss the ball this evening."

"Indeed, I should not," Mrs. Bennet agreed, who had no intention of doing so, rare tropical illness or not. "Betsy and Rose will look after you. And, as soon as I return, I will call the doctor."

"Dear Mama," Lizzy cried, "how thoughtful of you." She knew she was overdoing the entire affair, but she could not help but revel in it. "Promise me that you will have a wonderful time at Lady Piedmont's."

Mrs. Bennet, too afraid to embrace her daughter, merely nodded her head vigorously. Tears sprang to her eyes as her daughter exited her dressing room; she did not think to question anything.

Mr. Bennet had already guessed at his daughter's game and thought it clever enough. _**He**_ had not been so fortunate as to procure a means of escaping the ball. Unsuspecting Jane, however, hovered worriedly over her sister's bed, unable to continue dressing until she was sure that Lizzy was not in pain.

"Oh, Jane!" Lizzy cried, after her sister had clucked over her for the past hour, "You simpleton! It's just ink! I'm no more sick than you are!" She smiled and laughed.

"I should have suspected as much!" Jane cried, running to her sister's side and rubbing one of the dots. It smeared on her fingers, turning them black.

"How wicked of you, Lizzy! You have given everyone such a fright! I shall go and tell Mama this instant!"

Lizzy bolted to the door before her sister could go anywhere. "No! You mustn't! Not while I can miss the ball. _**No**_!"

Jane did not struggle. She sat placidly down on a chair and starred wistfully at her sister. "Should you hate to go so much?"

"I should hate nothing more," Lizzy declared, beginning to edge away from the door. Jane made no sudden movements.

"Then I shan't tell Mama, if you did all this to trick her. But I still think it wrong, Elizabeth Bennet. And I think you a fool for missing it."

"Why?"

Jane sighed. "Do you not have the slightest desire to dance? Or be admired?"

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "By the codswallops of _this _neighborhood? No thank-you."

"They are not all codswallops, Lizzy."

"Perhaps not all. The rest are dandies, rogues, and idiots. Why should you wish to be admired by _**them**_?

Jane blushed. "I don't really know." She looked up. "Your dress was **so **lovely, Lizzy."

It was a lovely dress, as Lizzy well knew. It was the only new dress she had requested for the new year; a beautiful wine-colored creation-simple and elegant. Even Lizzy, who was always unquestionably against fripperies and fashions, could not contain a sigh of wonder when she had first put it on.

"You are very cunning, my dear Jane," she told her sister, "to try to entice me to the ball with that dress. But I cannot be convinced. I am staying home. I invented an entirely new disease, after all. _That _cannot go to waste all because of a dress."

Jane shrugged. "Invent an entirely new cure."

But Lizzy refused and Jane did not argue. She knew her sister too well to attempt to persuade her otherwise.

Instead, she allowed Lizzy to help her into a pretty blue gown and ring for Rose to fix her hair.

* * *

Lizzy waved good-bye to her family from the top of the staircase, a heavy shawl tucked about her to give the illusion of illness. The tearful youngest Bennets stood beside her, both pouting. While Mrs. Bennet moaned tragically, a handkerchief to her mouth, Jane and Mr. Bennet exchanged knowing glances, Mary scowled angrily at being forced to attend (she was not so inventive as to concoct a tropical illness), and Amelia concentrated on arranging her dress, Lizzy smiled beatifically, raising her hand in a farewell gesture. Eventually, they departed. As soon as she heard the door shut firmly behind them and the sound of the carriage leaving the drive, Lizzy ushered Kitty and Lydia to their rooms, slid down the banister, and ran to the kitchens. Betsy was glowering angrily at her, while Rose was attempting to suppress laughter.

"Imp!" Betsy cried, leveling an accusatory finger at her young mistress. "I knew you were faking it! Black spots, indeed, I said. And to miss a ball. Don't you know how the two upstairs would love to attend a ball…I don't understand you, Lizzy. Not in the least."

"Oh, do be kind, Betsy," begged Lizzy, "it was only a piece of fun. Indeed, quite innocent too." She cast them a winning smile before trudging back upstairs into her father's library to pursue some leisurely reading. Before selecting the volume, however, she remembered her bookmark upstairs and ran light-footed to retrieve it from her room. Beside it, she found a curious scrap of embossed paper, which she soon determined to be her sister's dancing card. Jane, in all her worry over Lizzy, must have forgotten it.

"This won't do at all," she told herself. She went into the library and put it down. There was no way she would be dragged into attending a ball, she thought. _**No way**_. This was fixed very firmly in her mind, but she could not help repress the thought of poor Jane without her dancing card. Lizzy knew nothing about dancing cards, really, but she thought that poor, beautiful Jane, who had looked so forward to the occasion, would not be able to dance with anyone. Lizzy could not allow _that_. It would be monstrous. As much as she detested Lady Piedmont and Haye-Park and balls, Lizzy could not allow her sister, who rightfully deserved to be the belle of the occasion, to be stranded at the matrons' table, unable to dance with the codswallops. Lizzy was sure that codswallops were much more entertaining than matrons such as her mother and Lady Lucas. So, scrambling back down the hallway, she donned a pair of sturdy boots and a straw hat. She called good-bye to the servants and was out the door and down the lane, running towards Haye-Park.

* * *

"Black spots," Mrs. Bennet repeated to the horrified crowd assembled around her chair. She was situated in a prime position at the ball: a circular mahogany table near an ornamental tapestry. It was furthest from the dancing, so she had not the inconvenience of loud music and revelry. "It is horrible. I did warn her about the pomegranate seeds. My poor, dear child."

"Is it contagious?" inquired one lady.

"Has Dr. Jenkins been to examine her?" inquired another.

"Are you sure the spots are black?"

Darcy, who had been passing by, smiled down into his punch. Obviously, Lizzy was up to something. He no more believed this 'black spots' rumor than he did Mrs. Bennet's claims that her daughter's disease was wildly contagious and fatal. The horrified crowd, however, hung on to every word.

Darcy moved on to deliver a second punch cup to Amelia. She took it, thanking him.

"You are very thoughtful, Mr. Darcy," she said, sipping gracefully.

He smiled, looking down at the fair haired, bright eyed, and rosy cheeked young woman beside him. She was a beautiful girl, really, but he also thought her ingenuous and intelligent and kind.

"Have you heard of my cousin's illness?" she was inquiring. Her face had taken on a concerned air. "We are very worried over her. I was to stay home and nurse her, but Aunt Fanny insisted that nothing more could be done."

Darcy did not voice his skepticism. He merely replied that he hoped Miss. Elizabeth would recover her health soon.

Amelia smiled, evidently pleased that he was not _**overly **_concerned. "It will be a very trying evening when we return home, I am sure," she said. "No doubt we shall have to leave the ball early. It is very pleasant, is it not?" she asked smoothly.

"Yes. Very. I should hate you to be forced to leave early."

Amelia lowered her eyelashes. "Indeed. But it is none of your concern, Mr. Darcy. I should not have burdened you."

"I should be very happy to escort you home at a later hour, if need be," he answered. This was what she had been aiming for, for her eyes brightened and she smiled warmly.

"How kind of you, sir. Indeed, you are quite the gentleman."

"Only to happy to be of assistance."

"I will go and ask my aunt's permission," she said, maintaining her bright smile. She slipped through the throngs of people milling about, leaving Darcy to himself. No one seemed particularly interested in him; he was not very much liked by Hertfordshire society. In company, he had always been reserved and quiet. Hertfordshire people took this for pride and arrogance and treated him coldly in return. His interest in Amelia Lawrence, for that matter, hardly helped his suit. The Hertfordshire set thought it insulting he had chosen a **'**_**foreigner' **_over a good girl of their own stock. He obviously thought himself too good for the county.

Darcy was hardly concerned over such treatment; he had grown accustomed to it. He was content to remain by himself, facing the dancers. He was certain that Miss. Amelia Lawrence would return soon enough to his side. Then, as much as he detested it, he would ask her to dance. Certainly bewitching Miss. Lawrence would help him bear it.

Caroline Bingley came out of nowhere. Darcy had, until that moment, entirely forgotten about her, and he had no desire to be reminded. But there was no escape. "Mr. Darcy!" she cried, feigning astonishment. "Oh! How fortunate our paths should meet again. I have so much to thank you for, after that frightening episode."

He bowed formally. "Miss. Bingley. You have nothing to thank me for." He wished she would go away before Amelia returned. He had no desire for the two to meet.

"Indeed, I do," she returned determinedly, "we were all _**so **_frightened. And Hurst would do nothing. Have you been introduced?" she asked. Darcy replied that he had not had the honor. "Well, Hurst is a great lout," Caroline continued, "and I cannot understand why Louisa married him. She took a fancy to him in London during the Season, and they wed soon after."

Darcy nodded, thinking, all the while, that Caroline Bingley was insufferably vulgar. "How is Bingley?" he asked, realizing that she was awaiting some sort of response from him.

"Oh, Charles is fine, I suppose. He writes every so often. I do not think that London suits him very well."

"And you are staying with Lady Piedmont?"

"Yes. She was a great friend of my mother's," Caroline said. "We were very happy when she invited us to stay. She is such an accomplished and lovely woman."

"Indeed," he returned stiffly. As usual, Caroline could not take a hint.

"Georgiana is well, I hope?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And your father?"

"Fine," Darcy lied, not wishing to go into further detail.

Caroline smiled and inclined her head.

At that moment, Amelia rejoined him. She eyed Caroline with veiled dislike, and her expression seemed to convey a possessing edge. Caroline, meanwhile, glanced disdainfully at her rival. Darcy was too preoccupied with introductions to notice.

"Miss. Bingley, this is Miss. Amelia Lawrence. Miss. Lawrence, this is Miss. Caroline Bingley."

The two enemies curtsied and murmured expressions of greetings.

"You are a cousin of the Bennets, I understand," Caroline said, with a mocking smile.

"Yes."

"And staying with them at Longbourne?"

"Yes."

"How charming." Caroline smiled sarcastically.

Amelia's smile was bitter. "As is your dress. It is made up from the pattern that was so popular last year, is it not? I saw a dress similar to it in London, when I was there." Amelia Lawrence had never been to London, but it would harm no one to know otherwise, she quickly calculated.

Caroline's smile turned frosty. "Thank you for your interest. I purchased this dress only recently. It was made up for me by a very distinguished dressmaker. When were you last in London, _**dear **_Miss. Lawrence?"

Amelia did not visibly falter. She kept her eyes bright. "Last year. I go there frequently to stay with my aunt…Lady Dunmore." There was no Lady Dunmore, and Amelia automatically regretted the lie. Caroline could check in the _Peerage _and easily discover the truth. No doubt she would, as soon as she had the opportunity.

Caroline looked stunned. Until that point, she had known every peer in the _Peerage_, but she had never heard of a Lady Dunmore. Darcy had never heard of a Lady Dunmore either. He said nothing, however.

"She is a Russian noble," Amelia explained quickly.

"Really?" Caroline inquired, confused. "Dunmore does not sound like a Russian name."

Amelia shrugged slightly. "Well, it is. She is descended from the Tsars of Russia."

Caroline could not top that. She had not the imagination for such elaborate lies. What could she say to combat the niece of a descendent of the Russian Tsars?

Fortunately, Caroline was stopped and Amelia saved from further questions by the arrival of Elizabeth, clad in an old plaid frock, a heavy woolen shawl, some scarred boots, and those incriminating black spots, which she had forgotten to wash off before her arrival. In her hand, she clutched Jane's dancing card, and it was to Jane that she went directly, ignoring the pandemonium that had ensued upon her arrival

"The spots!" cried some, running as far from Lizzy as they could. Dancing halted abruptly, and people began to cover their noses and mouths.

"_Macrinus_ _Diadumenianus_!" said someone else.

Lizzy made her way to Jane and deposited the dancing card in her hand.

"Thank you, dear," her sister replied in a bemused fashion. Lizzy, exhausted from her run, sat down beside her, forcing the departure of a particularly devoted gentleman who had been attending the fair eldest Bennet. He turned green at the sight of Lizzy's spots and excused himself to seek refuge by the punch table.

"Whatever is the matter with everyone?" Lizzy asked, once she had regained her breath.

Jane could not help but laugh. "Mama has been spreading rumors that you are highly contagious with a rare tropical illness that has no cure."

"Oh." Lizzy nodded in understanding. "I see. What shall I do?"

"I would tell you to leave immediately, but I can see that you are tired," Jane said gently. "Just stay in this corner and let me ask Papa to send for the carriage."

"That is not necessary, Jane," Lizzy protested, but her sister was already threading her way through the crowd to find Mr. Bennet. The music was starting up again. People, however, maintained their distance.

Darcy, who had watched Lizzy enter with amusement, was happy to have his thoughts confirmed. A rare tropical illness, indeed. Those spots were very clearly of the ink variety. As he made his way over to her, he began to laugh. He was laughing when he found her, and his laughter was infectious. Lizzy began to laugh too. She began to laugh very hard, partly because she was tired and partly because she thought it such a good joke. When he extended his arm to help her to her feet, she said nothing. She said nothing as he led her to join the other dancers. She said nothing when they began a fast-paced minuet. She was simply laughing too hard. She had forgotten that she hadn't the slightest idea of how to dance the minuet, or anything for that matter, and Darcy had forgotten that he detested dancing.

The other dancers did not run from her, but they did not touch her hands, either, so she and Darcy were essentially excluded from the dance. Nevertheless, they remained. Lizzy mimed touching hands with the other dancers, and found that to work to her advantage. Thus, following the line of agitated and dismayed dancers, with the eyes of concerned citizens upon them, Lizzy and Darcy danced the minuet as gracefully as they could.

"Why are we dancing?" Lizzy managed to ask, between peals of laughter.

"Because you have black spots all over your face," was the answer. "And I wanted a piece of fun."

"Well, this _is _a piece of fun!" Lizzy returned. She was beginning to grasp the dance, and her eyes shone because of it. "Perhaps dancing is not so bad, after all."

"Indeed. A change certainly has come over you," was all that he said in response.

The dance ended, and people began to gravitate to the furthest corners of the room to avoid contact with Elizabeth Bennet.

"I think I'd best be going," she said to Darcy, "I have stayed to long as it is. Evidently, Hertfordshire residents lack your keen eye for ink."

"Well, Lizzy, you have certainly made an impression," he said, "and at Lady Piedmont's ball, too."

Lizzy cast her gaze about, searching for that grand lady. "Where is she anyway?" she asked, as Darcy escorted her to a corner. He was attempting to avoid Caroline, who was, thankfully, coming no closer due to Lizzy's presence. Amelia, too, was maintaining a safe distance. He wished he could convey the safety of the situation to _**her**_, but did not think it wise to drag the infected any closer to the crowd. A mad stampede might ensue.

Meanwhile, Lizzy was still searching for Lady Piedmont.

"I have not seen her all evening, now that you mention it," Darcy said. He obviously did not think it so very unusual.

Lizzy's face was rapt. "I knew it!" she cried jubilantly, "I knew that she was up to something!"

"Up to something?" Darcy asked. "Lizzy, what could she possibly be up to at her own ball?"

"I'm sure it's only an excuse. What better than to be involved in illicit dealings…and throw a ball as a cover? We must search the house!"

"Oh, no! No. No. NO!"

But it was too late. Elizabeth had taken firm hold of his jacket and was pulling him out of the crowded formal apartments into the dim candlelight of a back corridor.

"This is madness!" he said, but he did not struggle. Curiosity had overcome his original doubts and he followed her without further complaint. Haye-Park was a large, lofty, old mansion, perfect for exploration. Naturally, he could not resist. "As long as we are not found out," was all that he said.

She smiled up at him, glad to have the original Darcy returned.

The corridor was long and narrow and ended at a door. Of course, the door was locked.

"Never fear!" Lizzy cried. She resourcefully removed a hairpin from her messy chignon and picked the lock.

Darcy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He was far enough into the mischief to offer anymore protest. The door opened to a flight of staircases leading upstairs and down. Naturally, Lizzy was determined to go down.

"Basements are much more secretive places than attics," she explained, "it's part of their charm." They crept slowly and quietly down the staircase, which, sure enough, led to a basement, cavernous in size and very dark.

At the foot of the staircase, they stopped abruptly; there were voices somewhere in the gloom, and the light of a single candle could be distinguished.

"No! You must _**go**_!" a voice insisted. It was high and musical, and Lizzy and Darcy immediately recognized it as Lady Piedmont's.

"Go? I cannot!" Another voice answered. It belonged to a man, deep and rough. "We _**must **_complete the shipments! _**Orders**_! My men and I _**must **_complete the shipments!"

So there were others! Lizzy could hear them shuffling about. "Smugglers!" she whispered to Darcy. "I knew it!"

"You promised us!" The man was saying. "Is that not the entire reason you let this house? Eh? You promised that Hertfordshire would be the prime location for our business. We had an agreement!"

"I am having a ball," Lady Piedmont said. Her voice was slightly hysterical. "Only _**think **_what my guests would think if they saw you loading large crates into my basement now."

"I thought that was why you threw the ball!" the man exclaimed.

"We must earn our livelihood somehow," another man said, "do you wish the creditors to come knocking at _this _door?"

"Of course not!" she snapped. "And I know that we have an agreement. But you cannot unload tonight. Not while my guests are still here."

In the pause that followed, the man appeared to be thinking. "Alright," he agreed finally, "we will go tonight. But we will return late tomorrow night."

"Where will you go in the meantime?" she asked.

"I don't know. Do you have any recommendations?" His voice was sarcastic.

"Of course you may stay here," she answered stiffly. "I have room enough to accommodate all of you."

He considered. "Do you think the…"

"No," she cut in smoothly. "Have no fear. By the way," she asked, "do you suppose that _he_ will return tomorrow night?"

"I can't say for certain, your ladyship, but I think it likely. He must be here to supervise, as it is. We cannot get along without him."

Lady Piedmont's voice trembled as she said, "Very well."

Darcy pinched Lizzy's elbow. "We must go now," he whispered in her ear. Lizzy strained to hear further plans, but Darcy was already leading her back up the stairs and through the doorway. They hurried down the corridor, bypassing the lighted rooms of the ball to go outdoors, near an arbor. The moonlight was brilliant; they were in a garden of some sorts.

"I told you," Lizzy said, as soon as she was able. She had been bursting to say it.

Darcy had a hand to his forehead. "I still cannot believe that you are right."

"You heard it plainly. Lady Piedmont is involved in a smuggling ring!"

"We cannot draw such hasty conclusions," he warned. "There are a number of possibilities."

"Such as what? She enjoys collaborating in dark basements about crates?" suggested Lizzy dryly. She had perched herself in a low-hanging tree and was gazing steadily at Darcy.

"No!" he said. "You make me sound ridiculous. I am trying to be practical."

"Well, there is no practical way out of this one," Lizzy answered. She was excited. "We must return tomorrow night to watch them further."

Darcy shrugged. "Do you not think we should alert the authorities?

"What fun would there be in that?" Lizzy asked. "We would run things ever so much more efficiently, anyway."

"Lizzy," he cautioned, "this could be _dangerous_. Actually _dangerous_."

"And I love danger," she responded promptly, "as do you. What more could we ask for?" She could see that he would be easily convinced; he was as eager for some excitement as she was. "Just think of the daring things we could do, Darcy!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps they are the most wanted smugglers in England. We would be heroes!" She paused. "Or, if they are smugglers of the good and intelligent variety, we could join forces with them!" She seemed more enthusiastic about the latter possibility.

"I think you are getting carried away, as usual," Darcy said.

She shook her head. "No. I am merely being _practical_, as you say." Her eyes danced merrily.

"I think we had better return," he said, glancing warily about the deserted garden, "I know you have no concern for your reputation, but I keep it in mind."

"How chivalrous of you, milksop," Lizzy answered, "but I am not returning. I have _Macrinus_ _Diadumenianus_,remember?"

Darcy shook his head. "As in the emperors?"

"As in the disease."

"Well, you still cannot go home in the dark…"

"Why not? I arrived in the dark."

"For a girl who is terrified of thunderstorms, I thought you'd at least be afraid of the dark."

Lizzy shook her head. "Not in the slightest."

"Well, nevertheless, you can go home with me in the carriage."

"Can we discuss plans?"

"To your heart's content."

Darcy went back inside to procure permission from Mr. Bennet and say farewell to Amelia. When she reminded him of his promise to escort her home, he turned rather red and apologized.

"I do not want to take you early from the ball," he said.

"I am fatigued anyway," she answered.

Darcy sighed. Lizzy would not like such an arrangement at all. Their plans would have to be put aside and that would vex her greatly. A promise was a promise, however, and Amelia was not about to let him forget his. Therefore, clutching his arm for support, she accompanied him to the carriage, where Lizzy was waiting.

Suffice it to say, it was a very long and very uncomfortable ride home.


	7. Cobwebs, Cupboards, and Crates

_I'll spare you the long author's note this time. Without further ado..._

**Chapter 8**

_Cobwebs, Cupboards, and Crates _

The evening after the ball, Lizzy had made a miraculous recovery. Much to Mrs. Bennet's relief, she was in high spirits and the black spots were gone entirely.

"I am in perfect health," Lizzy assured her, at breakfast. "So much so that I must go and reassure everyone in Hertfordshire that I am well."

"You did cause _quite_ a stir at the ball last night," Mrs. Bennet said, "everyone was so frightened. What on earth possessed you to come…and dressed as you were?" She did not scold further, however, for her daughter's three-day absence and fleeting illness had softened her towards her for the time being.

"Jane left her dancing card," Lizzy explained. She asked permission to leave, made a face at Amelia, and danced off outdoors to find Darcy.

She did not have far to go. At the door, she was met by Peter, a Netherfield footman, who was bearing a note.

"Greetings, Pete!" said she, taking it immediately.

"Hullo, Liz. I pledged Mr. Darcy Jr. to bring this to you on the dot."

"Very speedy!" she said, in a congratulatory tone, "There should be some breakfast in the kitchen, if you're hungry."

"Very much so!" he exclaimed. He was off around the corner in an instant, leaving Lizzy to open her letter.

_Lizzy-_

_Meet in the grove near Haye-Park after your supper. Come quickly. _

_-Darcy_

The entire day she felt excitement building, and she could do nothing but move restlessly about the house and yard. Betsy assigned her various chores, but she was entirely too preoccupied with plans to do them well.

At supper, she picked at her food, and Mrs. Bennet was fearful she was suffering a relapse. Lizzy assured her likewise, but did plead tiredness, and, excusing herself early from supper, went to her room, flying up the stairs three at a time. Once there, she left a short note for Jane, stuffed some pillows in the bed to form a shape, and climbed out the window. Once her feet hit solid ground, she was running. She made it to the grove near Haye-Park in what seemed like an instant. Darcy was already there, waiting for her.

"We must find a back entrance to the basement," he said, not bothering with greetings.

Lizzy nodded. "And then we must find a good place in which to hide and watch."

Accordingly, they circled the house, searching for any secret or hidden doors to the basement. From what they could see inside, it appeared the place was deserted. Not a light shone in the house and there was little movement. Suspicious, they kept low to the ground but did not give up on their search.

At last, they came across a small door. It not hidden but in plain sight, and, upon closer inspection, Lizzy and Darcy found it led into a small corridor, which, in turn, led into the basement. Watching closely for any servants, they quietly made their way into the room. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they realized how large the basement _was_. It consisted of one immense room, with vaulted ceilings, and smooth plank floors. There were no windows, naturally, but torches scattered throughout for light. The torches were not lit.

"Quite medieval," Lizzy said approvingly, when she was sure they were alone.

Darcy nodded.

"Infinitely preferable to the rest of the house."

She examined the room for prospective hiding spots. There was not much in the way of furniture stored in the basement. As a matter of fact, it was surprisingly bare. There was, however, a large cupboard in the corner, covered with cob-webs, which led Lizzy to the conclusion that it was not much used. Skipping lightly to the old piece of furniture, she turned the handle and opened one of the doors. Inside was a space large enough to admit two. Smiling with satisfaction, she motioned to Darcy, who followed, deciding it was for the best.

They managed to cram themselves into the cupboard. It was an awkward fit, but they did not complain.

"No conversation," Darcy warned. Lizzy agreed to keep silent. It would be difficult for her, but she decided to try her best.

There were several small cracks in the woodwork of the cupboard, which was fortunate, because they offered Lizzy and Darcy a good view of the basement. Such a view would come in handy later, when-and if-the mysterious men began to unload the 'crates'.

Hours passed, but no one entered the basement. Twice, Elizabeth had fallen prey to sleep, and twice Darcy had jostled her to consciousness. Cramped and sore, they were both prepared to abandon their mission, but neither would admit their willingness to leave.

Just as Darcy was about to give in, footsteps could be distinguished on the steps, causing Lizzy to jump slightly and Darcy to hold his breath. Voices could be distinguished; loud and merry and common. Several men were descending the stairs.

"I keep my promises, do I not?" They heard Lady Piedmont say. Unlike last evening, she sounded bright and cheerful and happy. There was not a trace of iciness or arrogance.

"It was a setback, of course," said the same, deep voice, "but I'll not hold it against you. A rather inconvenient time to hold a ball, though."

"I must make an effort to form friendships with these folk," she said. "Better to appear normal and friendly; who knows how helpful it may be in the future."

The man did not argue.

Through the crack, Lizzy and Darcy could see the torches on the walls being lit. They distinguished Lady Piedmont, dressed in her usual elegance, standing near a stooped, gray gentleman in shabby dress. Despite his shabbiness, he remained immaculate. There was, Lizzy, thought to herself, the air of a gentleman about him.

There were ten other men, all in similar shades of shabbiness. Unlike the man with Lady Piedmont, however, they were dirty and rather common in appearance. While Lady Piedmont and the man conversed, they departed through the side-door, no doubt to fetch the 'crates'.

"Was the voyage difficult?" Lady Piedmont was asking.

"Relatively," the man replied, "although no more than usual."

_So_, Lizzy thought, _these visits are regular events_.

"I was worried," she said.

"You had no need to be."

They lapsed into silence until the men returned with the crates. They were very large and appeared heavy, for several of the men were staggering beneath their weight. A few uttered expletives as they attempted to set them down on the basement floor, which Lizzy gleefully recorded to memory.

It took the men about an hour to unload the crates. Lizzy was curious where they had hidden them before; she and Darcy had not noticed a carriage or cart of any sort when they had circled the house.

She counted about forty crates. They were all various shapes and sizes, although most appeared to be large, rectangular boxes. There were no identifying markings or letters on the crates, which Lizzy had expected.

"May I inquire when the next shipment is due?" Lady Piedmont was asking. The men were filing upstairs, no doubt returning to their beds.

The man shook is head. "I really do not know. It is not for me to say."

"I must have some prior warning next time," she said.

"I will try and send word," he promised.

She gave a cursory glance around the basement before motioning towards the stairs. "Shall we?"

He nodded. Together, they adjourned from the basement. When she heard the upstairs door click, Lizzy finally began to move and talk.

Much to Lizzy and Darcy's relief, the men had not extinguished the torches. They still burned brightly in their sconces, illuminating the room.

Not daring to allow themselves time enough to stretch their sore muscles, Lizzy and Darcy crept to the nearest crate.

"How do we open it?" Lizzy asked, when her feeble attempts to peel the cover off by hand had failed.

Darcy searched around the room for some type of leverage. In the end, he found the handle of an old broomstick. It was sturdy enough for the job, and, with the proper application of force, he managed to open the crate.

Lizzy exhaled quickly. Up until that point, she had expected the crates to be filled with unimaginable treasures; gold, jewels, silver…or gunpowder and bullets…or illicit medical supplies. But what met her eyes was…_disappointing_.

"Cloth?" she asked, as though her eyes had failed her. She held a bolt of a dull gray material to the light. "Cloth?" she repeated.

Darcy nodded. "I'm afraid so, Lizzy. Did I not tell you so?"

"This is entirely _**too **_disappointing," Lizzy answered. "I had all of my hopes pinned on something exciting…something dangerous. Why, this is no more dangerous than…"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs cut her off. Someone was returning, and they had not the time to cram themselves back into the cupboard.

It was Lady Piedmont.

Her startled eyes met theirs as she reached the bottom step, and she put a hand to her mouth. "What are you _doing _in here?" she asked. She strode quickly towards them, and, in the flickering light, her eyes were wide and frightened.

Lizzy dropped the bolt of cloth. Her eyes flashed. "Why should you care if we're in your basement?" she snapped waspishly. Disappointment had turned her sour. "You obviously have nothing to hide but a bunch of _cloth_." She placed her hands on her hips. "If you must smuggle something into England, it could at least be interesting."

Lady Piedmont had nothing to say to this extraordinary statement.

"I've waited who knows how long in that cupboard over there for you and your band of men to unveil something wonderfully dangerous, only to be met with crates full of…_cloth_. Of all things! _**Cloth**_! This is really quite exasperating."

"You should not be here," Lady Piedmont said in a wavering voice.

"Indeed, we should not," Darcy said. He gave Lizzy a slight kick. "This is a very awkward situation, Lady Piedmont. We are _**very **_sorry."

"Sorry?" cried Lizzy, "if anything is sorry, it is the sad state of this smuggling operation. _Must _I teach you how to smuggle properly?"

Lady Piedmont ignored her. "I think you had better come upstairs," she said. Her expression was pleading. "Please. You must allow me to explain."

"As you wish," said Darcy without further question. Taking an indignant Elizabeth by the elbow, he proceeded to follow Lady Piedmont up the stairs.


	8. Lady Piedmont Elucidates

Could not resist. Here is chapter 9: )

**_Mystery Solved_**

They were taken upstairs to a small parlor where they were served warm tea and toast, much to Elizabeth's chagrin.

"Smugglers should not be so hospitable," she informed Darcy in Lady Piedmont's absence, "it is a breach of smuggler's conduct to serve one's enemies tea and toast in one's very own parlor."

"I fail to see how you know so much about smuggler's conduct," returned Darcy. "Besides, I'm certainly not complaining."

When Lady Piedmont returned, she was accompanied by the stooped, shabby gentleman from the basement. Although he did not immediately greet them, Elizabeth could see he was making quick calculations. His eyes were sharp, and, as he surveyed the pair, Lizzy could not suppress a feeling of guilt. He sat down next to Lady Piedmont, reclining slightly.

A very awkward silence ensued. Lady Piedmont was obviously attempting to find a way to address the two intruders, and they were obviously attempting to formulate a plausible excuse for hiding in her basement cupboard. At length, she cleared her throat. "No doubt you are laboring under some misapprehensions about our…_situation_."

"If you mean are we confused about the crates in the basement…then yes!" declared Lizzy, not to be dissuaded.

"It was very wrong of us to spy," added Darcy apologetically.

Lady Piedmont inclined her head. "I suppose your curiosity was to be expected. I could see you would be trouble the minute I set eyes upon you," she said, addressing Elizabeth. Her tone was not critical or harsh, it was warm. Lizzy was surprised.

"Digress no longer, my dear," said the strange gentleman, in a half-whisper.

Lady Piedmont smoothed her dress. When she looked up, her face was composed. "Mr. Darcy, Miss. Bennet," she began, "allow me to introduce you to my husband…Sir Theodore Piedmont."

Darcy started and Lizzy gasped. "Your _husband_?" she cried, looking at the gentleman, "but you're _**dead**_!"

"I know," he replied glumly.

In the candlelight, he was much younger looking than Elizabeth had expected. Although stooped, he had a pleasant, boyish face, smooth and unlined. His age was indeterminate; he could have been three-and-thirty as easily as he could have been three-and-fifty.

"Oh, Teddy!" breathed Lady Piedmont. Composure was gone; her eyes glistened with tears. "How shall we manage now we've been found out?"

"Quiet, Olivia," he cautioned, placing a callused hand over hers. His eyes met Lizzy's.

"You'd best hear the story," he said, in his gravelly voice.

Lizzy nodded. "I should like that very much."

"I was born Theodore Archibald Piedmont," he began, after an appropriately suspenseful pause.

"A very nice name," Elizabeth interrupted, determined to make amends. She rather liked this strange gentleman with the pleasant face and the stooped back.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My father was Sir Rufus Reginald Piedmont, of Piedmont Park, in Hampshire. I was the eldest of three; Arnold and Cornelia were my younger siblings. We were not wealthy; our fortune had been whittled away throughout the years. Essentially, we had nothing but the estate, the title, and the creditors."

Elizabeth nodded sympathetically.

"My maiden name was Montclaire," Olivia interrupted, feeling it the appropriate time. "I knew neither my father nor my mother. I was raised by my kindly maiden aunt Lenore. When I was seventeen, however, I felt I appropriate to become a governess, to help support her." She stopped, and Sir Theodore resumed.

"My father died when I was nineteen," he said, "leaving behind massive debts. The estate and title were mine, as were the debts. I had not the slightest idea how to pay the creditors." He grimaced. "At that time, Arnold became interested in trade and was apprenticed to Edward Bingley, a reputable merchant with a promising future. Cornelia was in young and in need of a governess. Money was nonexistent, of course, but I could not deprive her of an education. I placed an advertisement in _**The Times**_ for a governess, and it was answered by a Miss. Olivia Montclaire of London. She came to care for Cornelia, and I came to care for her. We married barely a year later." He smiled at Lady Piedmont, an expression Lizzy was wise enough to ignore. Usually she thought such bursts of open affection deserved retching sounds. Due to the circumstances, however, she was willing to make concessions.

"Meanwhile, my brother Arnold was ruined. He had been discharged by Mr. Bingley who, in all his amiability and goodness, could no longer house the reprobate. To make matters worse, he had accumulated a mountain of gambling debts, which he expected me to pay off. Naturally, I could not. I was forced to send him from Piedmont Park in disgrace."

"Arnold was always insanely jealous of Teddy," Lady Piedmont added, "so such an action immediately enraged him."

Sir Theodore nodded. "In retrospect, it was unwise. But I could not pay his debts. It was impossible. Already, we were being forced to sell the estate." His eyes became misty. "It had been the Piedmont home for centuries. In the end, it was Cornelia who saved us. She married Edward Bingley, and the dear fellow ensured that we should keep the place. He could not pay all the debts, of course, but he did manage to help us a great deal."

"This was Charles's father?" Lizzy interrupted, turning to Darcy.

He nodded.

"Nevertheless, we were sinking. The creditors were constantly plaguing us for money, and there was nothing we could do."

"We tried everything," Lady Piedmont said. She played with the ring upon her finger. "But it was no use."

"And Arnold was still so very angry," said Sir Theodore. "He came one evening to speak with me at Piedmont Park. I recall it was very stormy, and we were sitting in my study, with cigars and brandy."

"He tried to kill him!" Lady Piedmont exclaimed.

Sir Theodore appeared unruffled at her interruption.

"Tried to _**kill**_ him?" Lizzy asked, aghast. "How?"

"Poison," responded Sir Theodore promptly, "in my brandy. I drank it, naturally, but Arnold was so scatter-brained that he forgot the proper dosage. I was merely very sick for a while. It did not kill me."

Lady Piedmont squeezed his hand. "Those were terrible days. When Teddy recovered, I was so _**very**_ thankful."

"Indeed, my dear," replied Sir Theodore, with another meaningful look, during which Lizzy gazed at the ceiling and Darcy observed the handsome mantelpiece. "I recovered, but Arnold did not know that."

"We were deceitful," Lady Piedmont said, "for all of our acquaintance thought that Teddy had had a stroke. This was the rumor spread by Arnold, who wished to place blame on a natural cause, of course. The solution seemed clear. We would fake Teddy's death, in the hopes that we could evade both the creditors _**and**_ Arnold."

"For I was sure he would strike again, once he had botched his original attempt," said Sir Theodore.

"We thought if for the best," Lady Piedmont said. She glanced down at her ring again, a sad expression apparent. "But we were wrong."

"The title, estates, and debts passed to Arnold," Sir Theodore explained, "as was to be expected. Olivia retired from London in mourning, to her sister's home in the countryside. I found a small cottage in Somerset for rent, and we moved there for a time. I had to find some means of support, however, so I wrote a long, explanatory letter to Edward. The good fellow himself came all the way to see me."

"Dear Edward," murmured Lady Piedmont softly.

"He wished me to commandeer one of his vessels; he had realized his prospects and was quite prosperous. I was more than happy for the opportunity, although I had to leave Olivia behind. Edward and Cornelia were sworn to secrecy; I set sail soon after."

"Set sail?" Elizabeth asked. Her esteem for Sir Theodore was building.

"Yes. Across the Atlantic to America, where trade flourished. My first few voyages were quite successful, in fact. Then, the second War erupted with the colonies. Embargoes were enacted; trade was restricted."

"Edward died," Lady Piedmont interjected, "and bequeathed a vessel to 'Thomas Fennimore', Teddy's alias."

"It was a very generous gift," Sir Theodore said, "but trade soon halted entirely. With our precarious financial situation, I could not sit around and twiddle my thumbs. I had to do _something_."

"Smuggling was the only option," Lady Piedmont said sadly.

"A highly lucrative trade," he assented, with a slight sigh.

"I wished to set myself up in some style, so as to counteract the rumors that our debts were numerous," Lady Piedmont explained. "Contrary to popular belief, they were family debts and had fallen upon Arnold, who certainly deserved them." She nodded her head vigorously at that. "With the profits from Teddy's trade, I rented Haye-Park for the summer, hoping to settle quietly and provide a convenient location for Teddy to store the goods."

"Settle quietly?" Lizzy asked. "Then why on earth did you throw a ball?"

Lady Piedmont blushed. "Partly for selfish reasons; I was lonely and longed for a ball. At the same time, I thought it would provide a convenient cover to throw attention from the 'mysterious visits' I had been receiving from Sir Theodore. A few of the townspeople had noticed him at Haye-Park. It was dangerous. With a ball, however, I could easily house Sir Theodore and his men and slip away to transact business. It seemed the natural thing to do, so I planned the occasion around the time Teddy would be arriving from sea."

"And I suppose that is the end," Sir Theodore said, a note of finality in his voice.

Lizzy, however, was not content with such loose ends. "What about Arnold?" she asked.

"Why should he be allowed Piedmont Park and a stolen title? He tried to _**murder**_ you."

"I live above the law now," said Sir Theodore, "I am criminal-a smuggler. My word is no longer good."

"Don't say that, Teddy!" cried Lady Piedmont, taking his arm.

"Arnold tried to _**kill**_ you!" Lizzy insisted. "And what is smuggling compared to murder?"

"I do not wish to cross paths again with Arnold. I am perfectly fine as Thomas Fennimore. I have Olivia; that is all that matters." Sir Theodore seemed content enough. It was Lizzy who was not.

"This is not fair at all. Where is the justice in it? A murderer who prances around as a baronet…"

"He has a mountain of debts to pay," Sir Theodore said, "I do not envy him that. I suppose you could call _that_ his punishment."

"Do you smuggle in only cloth?" Darcy asked suddenly.

Sir Theodore turned his attention upon him. "No. Only occasionally. We smuggle in everything you could imagine; cotton, rice, assorted goods…"

"Gunpowder? Knives?" inquired Lizzy, her face bright.

Sir Theodore shook his head. "No, indeed. I do not deal in such violence."

He paused heavily, and the wrinkles that lined his forehead were visible at last. He was not, at Elizabeth had begun to think, a saint. He was a man, a mere mortal. The patience and fortitude with which he bore his brother's betrayal and his fall from power were products of a kind nature, nothing more, nothing greater. He was not a man to fight.

"So you will continue to live as Lady Piedmont, the widow and Thomas Fennimore, the smuggler?" Darcy asked.

The two exchanged glances, before nodding.

"Our minds are quite made up. We are content," said Sir Theodore, with emphasis. "My Olivia is cared for and able to live in great comfort. I am finally able to provide for her." He smiled. "This is _**true**_ bliss…we want for nothing."

Elizabeth fell upon her knees. "Then please, Sir Theodore…I mean, Mr. Fennimore…_**please**_ allow me to join your crew of smugglers. **Please**. You will never regret it! Never! I shall be an excellent smuggler. Only look at me! I am thin and flexible; I can fit through small spaces, I can! Only yesterday I slipped the beam in the attic to save a gosling. Oh, please! Please, please, please! It is my dream to sail the ocean. I can add and subtract enormous figures in my head quite quickly. Would you like to time me? I can do it now, if you wish. I am sure that would come in handy for something. I know several languages, and I could learn more. I know how to handle a pistol, and I should not be afraid to use one. I can spit and curse and do all the things sailors do. I have an entire book of curse words! Wonderfully colorful words, too! Only let me join your crew. I should be the best smuggler and the truest sailor…"

Sir Theodore was laughing, as were Lady Piedmont and Darcy.

"One minute you insist I should seek vengeance against my brother and the next you are begging me to continue my smuggling so that you may join my crew. A strange creature you are, child."

"I suppose that is a no," Lizzy said crossly. She looked vexed that they considered her desire to become a smuggler/sailor/pirate humorous.

"You are young yet," Sir Theodore said, "wait a few years. You never know what might happen to change your mind. You might fall in love." He glanced at Lady Piedmont as he said this, his eyes full of warmth.

It was Lizzy's turn to laugh. "Love, indeed. I shall never love _anyone_, save the sea…"

Darcy was standing. "It is very late," he said, "and we have kept you too long."

Sir Theodore and Lady Piedmont stood as well.

"I must ask you to keep all that you have seen and heard this evening a secret," Sir Theodore said seriously. "It is of the utmost important."

"Not a word, please," Lady Piedmont urged, "even amongst close friends."

"Of course," Darcy said, "you may rely upon our discretion." He nipped Lizzy's elbow as he said this.

"Very well," she muttered. She shook hands with Sir Theodore. "I am sorry that you will not let me join your crew, but I shan't hold it against you."

He smiled. "Approach me with your proposition at a later time, for, I am sure, Miss. Elizabeth Bennet, that our paths will cross again… soon."

She nodded. "I hope so. I should like to be friends, for I am sure you have some harrowing tales…"

He winked.

Elizabeth turned to Lady Piedmont. "I am sorry for what I said to you when I called with Mama," she said suddenly, "it was wrong of me. I misjudged you, Lady Piedmont, and I beg your pardon."

"Think no more of it, dear," was the gracious answer.

"I should be glad of your friendship," Lizzy continued.

"You have it."

They were escorted through a side-door into the familiar garden with the arbor. Sir Theodore and Lady Piedmont, arms linked, waved good-bye, silhouetted against the door-frame.

The sun was rising in the horizon, and the sky was touched with color. Morning was beginning to break, and everything was tense with expectation.

Clutching each other's hands, Elizabeth and Darcy trooped through the dew, chattering like magpies of their adventure-filled evening and the extraordinary story that had been related. Alternately laughing and pursing different avenues of speculation, they tore apart Arnold's character, praised Sir Teddy's fortitude, and marveled over Lady Piedmont's patience. As for Edward Bingley, who was the silent hero of the entire tale, they could not help but draw the parallels between him and his son, Charles.

"I never knew Mr. Bingley," Darcy said, "but Bingley is such a capital fellow that his father was bound to be capital as well."

"What of Caroline and Louisa?" Lizzy asked.

"I really haven't the faintest idea," Darcy replied, baffled, "for Cornelia, as Sir Theodore described her, seemed nice enough. How could two such genuinely good people produce…_**them**_?"

"They're just like soured milk," decided Lizzy, "they were left out too long when they were young, so they spoiled. _That_ is the problem."

Darcy laughed. "Indeed. How rightly you put it."

They continued the rest of the journey discussing what should be done about Sir Theodore. Lizzy was adamantly for the reclaiming of his title and estate, while Darcy urged caution, patience, and pragmatism. Both were set in their opinions, as usual, and both presented telling arguments. When they reached the Longbourne gate, the debate had reached a stalemate.

"You would never have any fun without me," Elizabeth informed him, closing the gate between them. He hung back, watching her.

"Of course I wouldn't," he agreed, "life would be very dull, indeed."

She paused momentarily, gazing up at him with a sleepy smile, before turning into the house. The door shut soundlessly behind her; she was adept at entering the house in secret. Darcy smiled as he saw the curtain in her room move ever-so-slightly. Seconds later, she was at the window, waving.

He returned her wave, before turning to pursue the dusty road homeward. A smile lingered upon his lips, remnant of the night's adventures.


	9. A Botched Proposal

_Well…here is chapter 10! I feel I owe everyone an explanation. I __**know**__ that Lizzy is being extremely childish, but I won't her to be that way…and she will be, for just a while longer. But don't worry. Something will happen that will force her to grow up. And it may be towards the end of this book, but it __**will**__ happen. I'm not going to give anymore away, but trust me. She won't be an immature sixteen year old forever. Eventually, she'll grow up into the JA Elizabeth Bennet. But I always said she'd be OOC, and I think that she will remain that way, despite maturing. Anyway, I hope that is assurance enough. Let me just now thank everyone for the wonderful and encouraging reviews. And don't be afraid to give me some advice. I really take it into consideration, especially all of the complaints that Elizabeth is too immature. That feedback definitely made me realize that she needs to mature and grow up…eventually. Just read this story in anticipation that its slightly anachronistic (I'm sure people of that time period would be absolutely shocked and appalled by Lizzy's antics.) Well, I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. _

_**Merry Christmas!!!**_

* * *

So that was how Lizzy and Darcy came to know Lady Piedmont's secret. True to their word, they told no one, though they could not resist occasionally discussing it between themselves. The thrill of keeping such a secret-of being involved in a smuggling conspiracy-delighted them both to no end, especially Lizzy, who loved being mixed up in such affairs. 

In Lady Piedmont, Lizzy soon found a true friend. She had never been much for the companionship of ladies, but with Olive, as she was soon urged to call her ladyship, things were quite different. Not only did she allow Lizzy to read Sir Teddy's letters, which were often filled with interesting tidbits about ocean-life and sailing, she allowed her to make inventory of the crates before they were taken away to London. She also proved to know quite a lot about geography. When Lizzy came to call, a habit she soon slipped into, they would sometimes go into the library and observe a great map of the world that monopolized one of the walls. An entire afternoon could be spent pinpointing locations on this map, with Olive subtly teaching her young friend a variety of continents and countries and capitals. It was here, also, that they would map Sir Teddy's voyage to America.

Darcy, also, came to trust in Lady Piedmont. Although not so frequent a visitor as Elizabeth (he had Caroline to avoid, after all), he came occasionally to hear news of Sir Teddy, for, secretly, he was as interested in the smuggling trade as Lizzy. In this, Lady Piedmont proved to be a valuable friend. She recognized his interest, and, without breathing a word to anyone, indulged him in it.

Thus, Lizzy and Darcy became frequent visitors at Haye-Park and close friends with its mistress.

* * *

So arrived an invitation to a card-party given by Lady Lucas, Charlotte's mother. 

"An insufferable busy-body!" Lizzy declared, while being laced into her wine-colored frock by Betsy. She had no excuse to get out of it and had dully submitted to her fate. Now, she was reduced to leveling insults at her hostess.

"You'd do best to mind your manners," Betsy said, "for Charlotte is your friend. Insulting her mother is not proper."

"I wasn't insulting her," Lizzy answered stiffly. She frowned, knowing she was in the wrong. "I'm only going because Lady Piedmont and Darcy will be there."

"Since when did you become such good friends with Lady Piedmont?" Betsy asked suspiciously. "Last I knew, you hated her."

Lizzy shrugged. "She is quite interesting. I like her very much."

"You pay call upon her enough," was all that Betsy said.

"Yes," Lizzy agreed, "I do. And it is a mark of extreme esteem for _**her**_ that I do, because Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst are staying with her, and I almost always run into them."

"Those two? Why are they staying with her?"

"She was the governess of their mother," Lizzy said, "and obviously advanced enough in the world to be worthy of their attention."

Betsy harrumphed but said nothing more. Lizzy's toilette complete, she bestowed a quick peck upon her cheek, skipped downstairs, and hopped into the carriage destined for Lucas Lodge.

* * *

Sir William Lucas and his lady were only too happy to receive the Bennet family that evening, even the notorious Elizabeth. On her best behavior, she curtsied and exchanged the proper pleasantries before disappearing into the crowd. 

The Lucas home was a house of contradictions. Before Sir William had been knighted, the home had been a modest residence, similar to Longbourne in architecture and design. Afterwards, however, it was judged insufficient to meet his needs. Nothing but the best would do, and Lucas Lodge had undergone extensive renovations. Still cramped, it managed to be cozy, but the new grandeur installed tended to overwhelm, not awe.

That evening, it was crowded. Card parties were always crowded, Lizzy found. No doubt because playing cards was infinitely preferable to dancing-at least in her opinion.

In her search for Olive and Darcy, she game across a few familiar faces. John, her old friend was there, but he was a dandified flirt now, so she only gave him the slightest of acknowledgments. Charlotte was there as well, but too preoccupied with arrangements to manage anything beyond a greeting. She met Clara Long by the punch table, but they were no longer on speaking terms, so she accidentally spilt some punch upon her dress. Clara uttered a loud exclamation but was too proud to cause a scene. As gallant John rushed to her aid, Lizzy slipped off to be lost again amongst the Hertfordshire gentility.

She skidded to a halt before Caroline Bingley.

"Good evening, Miss. Bingley," Lizzy said abruptly, attempting to garner Caroline's attention. Under different circumstances, she would have turned to run, but Caroline would be able to tell her where to find Lady Piedmont, so she stayed.

Caroline frowned. "Miss. Bennet. Charmed to see you."

"No you're not," Lizzy replied frankly, "we hate one another. Remember?"

"Insolent as ever, I see," she remarked.

Lizzy smiled. "Where may I find Lady Piedmont?"

"She was ill and stayed home. But I don't see what concern it is of yours," Caroline said. "You are not the type of person _**Lady**_ Piedmont associates with."

"If you mean that as an insult, you're horribly off the mark," Lizzy answered pertly,  
for Lady Piedmont _does_ associate with me, as you well know. You are the person she _**must**_ associate with. She _**chooses**_ to associate with me."

Caroline turned very red. "I can see you have not learned to control your tongue anymore since last we met!"

"I shall never learn to control my tongue," said Lizzy, "nor should I want to. I am leaving now. Thank you for bearing my presence for such a _long_ period of time."

She left Caroline huffing and puffing in the corner, her search now centered upon Darcy. He usually arrived late at such functions, so she had time enough to find him before either Amelia or Caroline. She scanned the room, only to be disappointed. He was obviously taking his sweet time in arriving. But she _**must**_ see him. After her conversation with Caroline, she believed she had something important to tell him.

Amelia had found her. Lizzy grimaced as she saw her cousin determinedly making her way towards her, a flock of gentleman following.

"Go away," she said, once Amelia had reached her.

Amelia dimpled, taking Lizzy's arm. With an apologetic glance behind, she dismissed her coterie of admirers. Once she was sure they could not be overheard, Amelia's grip turned steely and her voice harsh. "You are _**not**_ to monopolize Mr. Darcy this evening, or carry him off as you did at Lady Piedmont's ball. You are a mere child, and he has no more interest in you than freckled Mary King."

"Darcy has been my friend far longer than he has been your beau," Lizzy pointed out, "and I cannot control how he spends his time or who he spends it with."

Amelia's dimples disappeared. "You know how much control you have over him! And you exercise it to your own advantage."

"Control over Darcy!" Lizzy laughed. "You are being ridiculous!"

"I wish that I were," Amelia answered, "but you know it is true. But I repeat: you hold no interest for him. Nor does Caroline Bingley!" She cast her eyes around until she located her tall, sallow competitor. "Though she is quite determined. But Mr. Darcy is _**mine**_, and, as I am expecting a proposal, I must have him to myself…so that he might have the opportunity to present one!"

Elizabeth had gone very cold all of the sudden. "Proposal?" she asked weakly. "What do you mean?"

"Silly girl! It is in the natural order of things. Of course Mr. Darcy should propose marriage to me! I have long suspected it now." Amelia's voice was smug and confident.

"Darcy is _**not**_ going to propose!" Lizzy spit out, "he is not grown yet! How can he propose marriage to anyone? Why, it is not right!" She was not speaking to Amelia at this point; she was speaking to herself.

Amelia did not realize this, however. "Mr. Darcy is a man of one-and-twenty. What do you mean he is not grown? And, furthermore, I _**know**_ that he is to propose to me. He has alluded to it more than once."

"I don't believe you!" Lizzy exclaimed, wrestling her arm free of Amelia's vise-like grip. "I don't believe you!" And, without a glance back, she rushed away, tears forming in her eyes.

She ran directly into the person she now no longer wanted to see: Darcy himself. He stopped her quickly, concerned.

"Lizzy?" he asked, turning up her chin. She was crying now; the tears falling freely down her cheeks. "Why, whatever is the matter?" Elizabeth rarely cried-she thought tears were meaningless and sentimental-so he knew that something was very wrong, indeed.

People were beginning to cluster about them, watching curiously. Aware of the attention they were receiving, Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and led her away from the prying eyes of the crowd and into a quiet corner. There was a window-box, and they settled within it.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, once he was sure they were alone.

"I am _**not**_ crying," Lizzy answered stubbornly. She was wiping her eyes and her nose, leaving them red. When Darcy offered his handkerchief, she refused it.

"_Lizzy_," he cajoled, "tell me what is the matter."

Lizzy was angry now; she glared daggers at him. "When did you plan on informing me of your designs upon my cousin?"

Darcy looked puzzled. "Designs upon your cousin?"

"Yes. Your intentions to propose to Amelia."

A sudden bashfulness came over Darcy, confirming Lizzy's suspicions. "So it is true. You _**are**_ going to propose to her."

He shook his head. "This is sudden. I had not planned it so soon."

"But by the end of the summer?"

He looked up at her, and his eyes conveyed his apologies. "Yes."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. The tears did not well up in her eyes again; she willed them away. Before Darcy, she would not show weakness.

"How did you find out?" he asked quietly.

"I have my ways," she replied.

"And are you very upset?"

"Yes, of course!" The words burst from her suddenly; more suddenly that she intended. "You have kept a secret from me, Darcy! A very important secret. I thought we **never** kept secrets from one another." Her eyes were blazing with fury. "I tell you _everything_!"

"_Lizzy_," he said, putting his hand to his head. "How could I tell you when I knew you would not approve?"

"You could have tried," she answered. "If you propose to Amelia…if you marry her…_everything_ changes!" She paused, overcome. Unbidden tears crept into her eyes, and she felt weak and helpless. Such emotions were revolting to her, but she could not shake them. "Darcy, you hardly even know her. How could you make such a momentous decision upon a vague inclination?"

"Vague inclination?" he asked, "you do me injustice with that, Lizzy. Indeed, injustice! Do you think I would make a proposal of marriage to someone I had only a _vague_ _inclination_ for?"

"I know she has bewitched you!" Lizzy exclaimed, "and I know that there is much more to her than what you see. I could bear _anyone_ but _**her**_…and Caroline."

He laughed bitterly. "There is not danger with Caroline, I assure you."

She shook her head. "That is not the point. The point is that you are about to make a mistake. If you propose to her before you truly know her character…then you will be miserable, Darcy. And I shan't be able to get you out of the scrape. It will too deep for me."

"I am free to make my own mistakes, Lizzy. You cannot rule my life," he said. He touched her hand. "You cannot be so selfish as to deny me happiness."

She wrenched her hand away from his, as though his touch burned. "She is after your money, Darcy. Your money and your land and your power. I wish you could see that. I wish I could make it apparent. But I thought it was only a game with you. I thought you would be wise enough to see her true intentions."

"You do her injustice, Lizzy! You speak malicious slander. I do not believe it!" he said. "She is not like that."

"I think I am a better judge of character than you in this situation!" Lizzy cried, "for I can see past a pretty face!"

"If you are going to be petty," Darcy said stiffly, "I shan't discuss it any longer with you." He stood up. "You do not understand, because you are still a child, and you still have a child's mentality and you still take a child's approach to life."

Lizzy's face was pale; her hands twitched at her sides.

"I wish that I could convince you otherwise, or help you grow up. But you refuse to grow up, Lizzy. I do not understand why you cling so violently to childhood, but so you do. Meanwhile, I _have_ grown up, and while adventures are all very nice and fun, they cannot last forever. Eventually, one must settle down and accept responsibility." His voice grew gentler. "Do not despair. I do not plan to propose anytime soon. But, in the meantime, I think you'd do best to keep out of such affairs. You have not the experience to advise me. When you are older, you will understand."

Darcy was being patronizing. He was patting her head, as though she were nothing more than an unrepentant child. Elizabeth did not know whether she was more disgusted with his blind adoration of Amelia or this sudden attitude. Never before had he acted in such a disgusting manner. She stood, controlling her emotions.

"Very well then, _**Mr. Darcy**_," she said, spitting the words, "I do not believe we can be friends."

Darcy was standing peculiarly still, watching her. He looked puzzled and confused and saddened. "I did not mean it like that," he said, and his voice was broken.

Elizabeth said nothing. She merely curtsied primly and made to depart through the side-door into the open night air. Something made her turn back, however, because she could not leave things on such a note. It was not in the spirit of things. So, she did the only thing Elizabeth Bennet would do in such a situation: she turned back and threw a walloping punch, socking him in the stomach.

He keeled over (they both knew that Elizabeth threw a mean punch), and she departed outdoors, running pell-mell towards Haye-Park, where she was going to seek sanctuary. Meanwhile, he straightened. His face was not twisted in pain, however, it was contorted in laughter.

It was a very Lizzyish thing to do, he decided. Indeed, a very Lizzyish thing to do.

But when he thought of what she had said and the way she had looked, his laughter died away…

_**Everything**_ was changed now. And there was no going back.

* * *

How's that for a cliffhanger: ) 

Hope you enjoyed!

_Feliz Navidad!_


	10. Midnight Visitor

_Hey, everyone! Happy New Year!!! It's 2008...can you believe it?_

_Anyway...here is chapter 10. Thanks for the reviews...They made great Christmas gifts! Okay...well, I'll cut-out the length author's note this time. Read ahead... : )_

* * *

_**Midnight Visitor**_

Lady Piedmont was on the couch in the sitting room, writing a letter to Sir Teddy, when Elizabeth crawled through the window.

She was no visibly upset-there were no tears upon her face; she was composed and unruffled. Her eyes betrayed her, however; they lacked her usual vitality.

"My dear child!" exclaimed Lady Piedmont, somewhat taken aback.

"I did not care to be announced," Lizzy said matter-of-factly, shutting the window behind her. "You know, Lady Piedmont, you should really lock your windows. No telling who could come through."

Lady Piedmont hid a smile and pretended to look very concerned. Lizzy, meanwhile, took a seat in Sir Teddy's favorite wing-backed armchair. "Don't ring for tea," she said, before her hostess could ask, "for I'm likely to throw anything in hand. I'm frightfully angry, you know." This was hard to believe, for she quite placid.

"Oh, dear," murmured Lady Piedmont, "I suppose you had a quarrel with Darcy, then."

Elizabeth nodded, not bothering to wonder at Lady Piedmont's perspicacity. "I punched him in the gut," she explained.

Lady Piedmont waited patiently to hear the reason, and, under her sympathetic gaze, Lizzy found the words flowing from her mouth in torrents. She related everything that had happened at the card party down to the last detail: Clara and the punch, Caroline and the conversation about Lady Piedmont being ill, Amelia and the proposal, Darcy and the window-box, and the fight they had had.

When she was finished, Lady Piedmont nodded in understanding.

"No doubt I overreacted when I punched him," said Lizzy thoughtfully, "but he deserved it. I hope that it knocked some sense into him."

"It was rather impulsive," said Lady Piedmont, "but I cannot blame you. I dare say I would have been tempted to do the same, had I been in your place."

"But what do you think of it all?" asked Lizzy, eager to hear an opinion other than her own. "Is he in the wrong?"

Lady Piedmont considered for a moment. "These things are difficult to judge," she finally said. "We cannot know his or her true feelings, after all. But I am of the opinion that she cares more for his money than his love." Lizzy's eyes brightened; she was glad that someone shared her opinion. "I remember when she came to call with you and your family," Lady Piedmont continued, "and she spun that web of lies about her trip to London. I saw then that she was eager for advancement in the world."

"But that spells disaster for Darcy!" exclaimed Lizzy, who was, in the end, willing to champion his cause and protect his interests. "What if he truly cares for her?"

"That I doubt," answered Lady Piedmont. "He is just besotted; he fancies himself in love, and Amelia uses this to her advantage."

"She has plenty of other admirers to choose from," said Lizzy, "why can she not break _their_ hearts? Why must it be Darcy?"

"Because Darcy is the prime catch!" exclaimed Lady Piedmont, "the ideal! Wonderfully rich _**and**_ handsome…"

"And intelligent," Lizzy added, because she thought it necessary.

Lady Piedmont nodded. "Heir to Pemberley; grandson of the Earl of Matlock. These are all highly qualifying assets in the eyes of fortune hunters such as your cousin. Amelia sets her sights high, my dear. Why should she settle for a simple country squire when she could have Fitzwilliam Darcy, member of one of the wealthiest families in England?"

"Oh," said Lizzy glumly, and she understood. It was all perfectly clear.

"My dear," said Lady Piedmont, in her kind and sympathetic voice, "there is hope left. We must not underestimate Darcy's judgment. You know what a good and intelligent man he is. To think otherwise does him the greatest injustice. Eventually, he will see Amelia for what she really is: a heartless mercenary."

"But what if it is too late?"

"We must hope for the best."

"We must _do_ something!" Lizzy counteracted.

Lady Piedmont sighed. "He must see for himself. You cannot always interfere."

As she looked upon Elizabeth, Lady Piedmont could see everything written plainly across her face. The poor child did not know it yet-probably would not know it for some time, but Lady Piedmont could see it clearly. She wished that Darcy would come to his senses and see it too, but that was hoping for too much.

_How tiresome_ _men are_, she thought, _to be constantly distracted by pretty faces!_ She would not have thought it of Darcy, whom she had come to greatly respect. Then again, he was young, and all young men must have their foolish fancies. How she hoped that his passion for Amelia would cool! She herself could see nothing in the girl to recommend her.

And here was Lizzy, feigning a disinterested interest, when all the time Lady Piedmont could see…but it would not do for her to say it. Saying it would only push Lizzy away. She could see the girl was in no way ready to admit it, even to herself, and to bring it up would injure her greatly. Instead, Lady Piedmont could only watch and wait and hope that the two who were so obviously meant for one another would _realize_ it…in time.

"Are you still angry at him, or has your anger cooled?" she found herself asking Lizzy.

"I'm not nearly as angry as I was, if that's what you mean," was the answer. "Of course, I'm still angry. We always tell each other everything, you see. And usually we can guess each other's thoughts. This, however, was entirely unexpected."

Lady Piedmont nodded. "Shall you make amends?"

"Oh, certainly. I have only the summer with him, you see, and I shan't waste it sulking over something as silly as this. If he wants to marry Amelia, I will just have to sabotage the wedding…that's all. Until then, at least we can be together. It's as simple as that." Elizabeth seemed to have convinced herself. "I'm awfully glad that I came here instead of the ship."

Lady Piedmont knew of the ship; Lizzy had told her of it during one of her visits. "I am glad that you came here, too."

"It's much easier talking to a person," Lizzy said, standing up. "Thank you for not screaming when I came through the window; I did not think you would, but, then again, one never knows."

"I suppose my experiences with Sir Teddy have prepared me for such…surprises," said Lady Piedmont.

"When Caroline told me you were ill, I did not believe her," said Lizzy, "I originally thought that Sir Teddy might have returned and that was why you had stayed home, but I suppose that was too soon. I was going to tell Darcy, but then I punched him in the gut…Sir Teddy has not returned, has he? Otherwise, you would have told me."

"Of course."

"Well, I am sorry. I am sorry that he will not let me do anything about Arnold, either. I wrote him, you know, with a magnificent plant."

Lady Piedmont hid a smile. She _**did**_ know. Her husband had written her an amused account of Lizzy's plan to capture Arnold, force a confession in front of the authorities, tar and feather him, and then chase him through the streets of London. "But I do not think that Sir Teddy wishes to meddle in his brother's affairs…or seek revenge."

Lizzy shrugged. "Maybe he'll come 'round sometime. When he does, I'll have the tar and feathers ready and waiting."

Lady Piedmont nodded. "Now, it is late, Elizabeth, and your mother will be worried." She glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece; it confirmed her words.

"Yes, I suppose your right. Mama has been fearfully anxious over me the past week, what with my runway and now the black spots."

"Black spots, my dear?" asked Lady Piedmont, who had stifled her curiosity, thinking it best to allow Lizzy to broach the issue.

"I faked a rare tropical illness so I would not have to go to Lady Lucas's card party. Unlike you, I can't feign ill easily. I must have some valid proof. So, I put black spots all over my face."

"Oh. Well..." Lady Piedmont was at somewhat of a loss.

Lizzy was preparing to scale the window. Her face was bright, and her eyes had regained some of their luster. She was hopeful, of that Lady Piedmont could tell.

"Good-bye, dear," she said, as her impromptu guest gracefully propelled herself through the window, to the dark lawn outside. "I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors to separate Darcy and Amelia."

"Luck, indeed," Lizzy replied, as she dusted her dress and shut the window behind her. Her eyes glittered in the darkness, and, one could see by the change in her step, she had formulated a plan.


	11. Darcy's Dilemma

**Okay. So long chapter. And guess what! It reveals Elizabeth's deepening maturity. Plus, some serious angst. And it's long! A sort of belated Christmas/ New Year's present. Read the note at the end, if the ending shocks and angers you a little…AND THEY FINALLY ADDRESS THE LOVE ISSUE (after Darcy agonizes about it for a while)…plus a KIDNAPPING plot! Oh man! This thing is as good as the movies: )**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

_**Darcy's Dilemma **_

The library was darkened; the fire had long been extinguished. All that remained were the embers, which afforded only the slightest glow. Over the mantelpiece, the clock claimed an unreasonably late hour. The figure in the armchair, however, did not appear to have any intention of retiring to bed.

How changed was this man with the furrowed brow and the troubled expression? The past seven years had greatly altered him. At one-and-twenty, he was now a man, and everything in his bearing and stature proved it, save the boyish twinkle that appeared in his eye whenever he was around a certain person (said person happened to be torturing his thoughts at present). Some would call him proud, although those who knew him best realized he was only reserved, disinclined towards much conversation. With a certain person, he could be open and talkative and merry, but the rest of the world only saw a detached gentleman heir to a great fortune. Perhaps this disturbed him.

He had done extremely well in school and even shown an interest in politics. His father's health, however, had drawn him too often to Derbyshire to permit any serious attachment. Did he bear this against the old man? No. Not at all. Throughout the years, during which his father had become progressively weaker, he had learned selflessness and sacrifice, two characteristics that had greatly spurred his maturity. Thus, he bore his father nothing but the greatest of regard and respect, and his affection for him had deepened to an enormous extent.

Who was this fellow, then? A riddle, it would seem; an anomaly from the customary heir. He was neither wild nor calculating; carefree nor mercenary. Indeed, if he had any faults they were his reserve and his trusting nature. Indeed, he _did_ trust; he had not learnt the hard lessons yet in that area.

Who was this figure in the armchair, then? What troubled him so greatly that he wiled away the time during which he might have been resting to sit before a fire that had long been reduced to mere embers? It was Fitzwilliam Darcy, and, there he sat, cravat undone, boots muddied, and face forlorn, clutching his side, though the pain had long subsided. His expression was contemplative, although it did not illustrate the depth of his thoughts.

He had been there sometime-since departing the card-party, as a matter of fact-but his thoughts were no more worked out than when Elizabeth Bennet had first confronted him. Frustration had long set in, combined with an obstinate desire to think nothing more of the subject. But he could not help it. Something had to be done, and it was up to him to work out a solution agreeable to everyone…including himself. Therefore, putting the matter aside was out of the question.

He thought of Amelia. How beautiful she was, with her heart-shaped face and clear blue eyes and honeyed hair and rosebud lips! How accomplished and sweet and compassionate. He thought of the art she had for conversation, her forbearance in the face of familial hardship (her father, it was rumored, was a drunk), her grace and poise and elegance, and the natural charm which she possessed in abundance. How could anyone not love her? How could anyone claim she was deceitful and mercenary? What ignoble motive could lie beneath her angelic face? How _could_ Elizabeth level such accusations?

To do justice to Elizabeth, he attempted to consider the flaws in Amelia Lawrence. Determined to be fair, he thought of the shrewd, calculating gleam he sometimes noticed in Amelia's eyes, the falsetto laugh, the eyelashes that seemed designed for batting, instead of blinking, the shortness of temper occasionally displayed, the faulty intelligence upon matters, the tendency towards gossip. But surely these were only minor faults of character? He could detect no true harm in them-certainly nothing to the degree which Lizzy imagined.

_How could she?_ He thought indignantly. _Was she not his best friend? Should she not have his happiness at heart? Indeed, he would have supported her, if she had formed such an attachment. He would have supported and encouraged her. Did she imagine these things to further her own ends? Or was she merely jealous of the increasing amount of time he was spending in Amelia's company?_

Such thoughts naturally led to _**her**_. _Oh! Curse the girl_, he thought, _the confounded impetuous scamp! What was to be done about her?_ _Bold, carefree, headstrong, childish Elizabeth Bennet!_

There she was, in his thoughts, as usual. Elizabeth, the pixie with the brilliant eyes and the freckled complexion, as thin and flexible as a blade of grass, with the curls which were always wildly bound up about her head in the messiest of buns. Lizzy with the ready wit, the indomitable will, and the steadfast loyalty-a leader of spirit, ingenuity, and cunning, with a mind so keen as to set his fellow schoolmates to shame. What right had she to occupy his thoughts? She was nothing to him…but a dear friend. Indeed. It was not right to think of her so often. He must think of Amelia and only Amelia. The beautiful creature who was to accept his proposal of matrimony and make him the happiest of men! How could Lizzy begrudge him that?

Yet, she did. He closed his eyes, to better envision the scene in the window-box earlier that evening. What had Lizzy accused her cousin of? Her words came clearly, as though from her own lips.

_She is after your money, Darcy. Your money and your land and your power. I wish you could see that. I wish I could make it apparent. But I thought it was only a game with you. I thought you would be wise enough to see her true intentions._

How could she think such a thing? Amelia certainly had no interest in his inheritance. He had heard her more than once refer to it as a sordid affair. Why, only the other day, she had denounced it!

"I do not consider money at all important," she had said, with a becoming blush. "It is a man's character that matters, after all. Why, I should be a queen with the poorest of men, who had the best of hearts! What need have I for money? I have lived long enough without it."

He had heard her, quite clearly. If her words were not true, then what in the world was? Lizzy was only selfish…she claimed she could see past Amelia, but he did not think she was capable of seeing past herself.

Now he was doing her injustice. But how could he help it? She had referred to his great love for Amelia as a _vague inclination_. A vague inclination! Indeed, _**she**_ did _**him**_ a sore injustice! Had he not been surrounded by beautiful, accomplished women since birth? As if he could be distracted by a pretty face! There were women in London, after all, with ten times Amelia's beauty and breeding, yet he loved her above them all! Did she not think him capable of knowing true love?

What did he love Amelia Lawrence for in particular? Why, he was sure he could think of several things…but, then again, why should he have to think of reasons why he loved her. He loved her…and he would not make excuses for himself! Or list her accomplishments as though she were a horse to be bought. She was his future bride, after all!

Or was she? Elizabeth had made it quite clear in her impromptu departure that to proceed in his engagement with Amelia Lawrence would be to sever all ties with herself. It would be a question of whether he could live without Lizzy's friendship. Could he? Again, Elizabeth's face was conjured to mind-angry and bitter and passionate:

_Very well then, __Mr. Darcy__. I do not believe we can be friends._

Was this how it was to be? Could she not reconcile herself to his engagement? He did not think it likely she would. But he had never, in his wildest dreams, envisioned life without Elizabeth Bennet's friendship. The months spent without her were bleak; every separation was impossibly long and impossibly painful. Correspondence was but a meager substitute. If all ties were severed, as Lizzy had implied, could he bear it? He told himself that he could, but he did not believe it.

Something inside of him asked, _Is Amelia Lawrence worth it? Could her love make you happier than Elizabeth's friendship?_

He told himself that it could…but, again, he did not whole-heartedly believe it.

He thought again of Elizabeth and her unjust accusations against Amelia. Was there a motive behind them? It was ridiculous to attempt to assign something ulterior to her actions, but he could not help himself. He was driven to it, and, while he did not think it likely that Lizzy would sabotage his plans without some just reason, he still could not believe that Amelia was only after his money. Why would Elizabeth, his dearest friend, say things against his intended? Perhaps there was a motive, indeed. And, as much as Darcy hated to think of it, hated even to admit it to himself (for he had been thinking it, subconsciously, for seven years), it must be brought to light.

Could Elizabeth Bennet love him?

Could jealousy be a factor?

It was laughable. It was ridiculous. But it had some grounds of truth.

Not that Elizabeth would ever openly admit it. Darcy laughed. She would rant and rail and scream and bite and claw before she ever owned to having such feelings. Had she not revenged herself upon any suitor who had dared to mention such things to her? Indeed, but why else would she care so much about his proposed engagement to her cousin? Why should she take the trouble of warning him? Why should she punch in the gut?

There was only one clear answer. She was in love with him.

He loved Elizabeth as the truest and dearest of friends but not in any other way. No. It would be too strange, after all of their dealings together, to love her in the way he loved Amelia. He should have known her feelings would fall prey as she grew older, and that their relationship should be so changed. How could it be helped? Friendship almost invariably led to something more. Now, on top of this raging antipathy towards Amelia, he would have to deal with her own suppressed feelings.

There was only one thing to be done, he resolved, and that was to write to his father.

* * *

The letter to Mr. Darcy was duly dispatched, and, the following morning, Darcy took a turn about the Netherfield grounds to air the thoughts that had so plagued him the night before. He was red-eyed and disheveled from his late-night sojourn in the library, but the fresh air had beckoned and he had always been an early riser.

He had not been there above an hour, strolling about with that look of imperturbable thought, when he was interrupted by a piercing scream in the direction of the woods that bordered the Netherfield property. It sounded like Amelia's.

He did not waste a second more. Without further thought, he ran swiftly into the thickness of the woods, dark even in the bright summer sunshine. It did not take long to distinguish the direction of the scream; it came from within a thicket of bushes within a heavily shaded area of the forest. Within the thicket, he could distinguish parts of a bright pink gown. There was no further doubt in his mind that Amelia Lawrence was in distress.

So swiftly was he running, that he was not paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings. Indeed, he did not even see the trap until he was caught up in it. Only _then_ did everything truly come to light.

One minute he was running, and the next he was caught in a thick net, suspended high in the air between two sycamore trees. He hardly knew what had happened, only he was within few feet from the thicket of bushes. He struggled against the net to no avail; he was caught.

The screams subsided soon afterwards and _two_ figures emerged from the thicket. The first was Elizabeth, which hardly came as a surprise to him; the trap was her signature. The second, however, was more difficult to identity. It was clothed in a bright pink dress and wearing a bright pink bonnet, both articles of clothing belonging to Miss. Amelia Lawrence. The figure, however, was most certainly not Miss. Amelia Lawrence, and, as it approached closer, Darcy was astonished to make out the sullen face of Elton beneath the bonnet's brim.

"What mischief is this?" he cried down from his lofty prison.

Elizabeth smirked up at him. "Merely Elton in a dress!"

"Yes," Elton reiterated sourly, "I am in a dress."

"May I be so bold as to inquire why?"

Lizzy sighed. "Because Elton likes dresses. Why else?"

"I most certainly do not!" Elton exclaimed vehemently. "Lizzy paid me to do it."

"Paid you?" Darcy asked, not recollecting Lizzy having any money whatsoever to dispense with.

"Two loaves of blueberry bread and a gold wristwatch," Elton answered.

"It was a remarkably fine wristwatch," added Lizzy.

"No doubt taken during your highwaymen days?"

She nodded. "And well-worth wearing a dress."

"Then why did you not wear it?"

"Because I was the one with the wristwatch," she answered, as if this made perfect sense.

Darcy sighed. "Why am I up here?"

"Because I have kidnapped you." This was said in a very matter-of-fact manner. "It was the only way, you see."

"The only way?"

"To make you see reason."

"By reason, I suppose you mean madness."

"Hardly."

"Will you cut me down?" he asked, exasperated.

"Perhaps."

"In the near future would be preferable."

"I am sure it would," Lizzy replied. "Then again, I would delight to leave you hanging up there, until Amelia should happen along to rescue you. Not that she would. She had a great fear of heights."

Darcy glared down at her. "So this is how you are to resolve the problem, eh?"

"Yes," she answered. "And what better way, I ask? I now have your complete attention."

"This is a childish solution, Lizzy! What fairness is there in this?"

"Plenty, I'm sure."

"Elton," Darcy cried, appealing to her companion, "why do you allow her to get away with this? Can you not overpower her and help me down?"

Elton considered for a moment. "What are you offering?"

"The satisfaction you would have in helping a fellow man in need?"

Elton and Lizzy both rolled their eyes.

Darcy sighed. "Alright…five pounds."

"Five pounds!" exclaimed Elton, his eyes round.

"Come now," said Lizzy, "five pounds is hardly a fortune." She glared at Darcy angrily. "I am sure that gold wristwatch is worth more."

"Too late!" exclaimed Elton. With a quick swipe, he managed to catch Lizzy off-guard and knocked her to the ground. Apologizing for his betrayal, he tied her to a tree with a length of rope. She glared daggers at him and struggled against the ropes but said nothing. Apparently, she had resigned herself to her fate.

Meanwhile, Elton had lowered Darcy to the ground. Before he released him from the net, however, he ensured his five pounds would be duly paid. Once a formal promise had been enacted (with Elizabeth as a sullen witness), Darcy was released. Stretching his limbs (which had been uncomfortably squished within the net), he instructed Elton to go into the Park and ask the Steward for his reward. He scribbled his signature on a piece of parchment for this purpose, and Elton was thus dispensed with. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had yet to be dealt with.

"How quickly the tables turn upon you, Lizzy," he said, taking firm hold of her elbow before cutting her free from her bondage.

"I think you had better let me go now," she said.

"No. I think you had better come with me," he answered firmly, guiding her through the woods and back onto Netherfield property. "I have been thinking several things over, you see; some of these things concern you." He kept his tone casual, but Elizabeth could tell how very serious he was.

She wished for anything but this interview. Never before had she been so frightened of being taken into his confidence. Last evening's conversation had so altered their relationship, placed them both in such a changed light, that she hardly knew what more would follow. Yet, how she longed for some explanation! Some credence for the bitterness and unrest that had kept her awake all night. She felt so conflicted and so torn emotionally that she hardly knew herself. What was wrong?

They came to the south lawn, where a set of wicker chairs were positioned elegantly overlooking the surrounding verdure. In the distance rose the forest, contrasting in its charming wilderness with the sculpted gardens of the Park.

"I think I had better go now," she said, echoing her former statement.

"No," he said angrily, all traces of casualness gone. He pushed her into a wicker lawn chair, with a brusqueness that was uncharacteristic and unnatural. "We are going to have it out! No more tricks. No more games. No more traps. We are going to handle this like adults."

Lizzy picked at her dress, slightly ashamed and slightly awed by Darcy's authoritative stance. He stood before her, pacing the lawn, his brow furrowed and his jaw set.

"Tell me at once, Lizzy," he said, with a suddenness that was alarming. "Are you in love with me?" He said it so quickly it would have seemed it had only just occurred to him, not that he had agonized over it all evening…perhaps subconsciously agonized over it for years.

Elizabeth's head shot up. Her mouth was agape and her eyes were wide, devoid of mischief. "What?"

"Are you in love with me?" he repeated, running a hand through his hair and not daring to meet her incredulous gaze. He felt like a fool for asking, yet he could not take the question back. It had just slipped out. He had not intended to ask it.

"In love with you?" she asked. "Darcy, are you deranged?"

"No," he answered, "mad, perhaps. But not deranged." He willed himself to meet her eyes, only to find them riveted upon the woods. Her cheeks were slightly red. Emboldened, he said, "I do not ask such a question to make you uncomfortable or bring any more awkwardness between us. No doubt you think it very silly and presumptuous I should ask you. But circumstances require it."

"Circumstances?" she asked quietly. "Have things gone so far as that?"

"They have," he admitted, not without reluctance. "I have written to my father."

Her eyes flew to his face. Again, he refused to meet her gaze, which was now fraught with something akin to fear. "You wrote Mr. Darcy?" she asked.

"Yes. The letter was dispatched only this morning. It is a mere formality; I already know what he shall write," Darcy said. "He will urge caution and wariness and beg me not to be hasty. But I am tired of waiting, Lizzy. I have waited enough…my feelings can no longer be repressed. You must know why I wrote to him, Lizzy."

"Yes," she answered distantly. "But I thought we had more time."

"Time?" he asked, "why, we shall always have time together, Lizzy. But it is time that drives me to this rash action. It is time that makes me hasty. You see, I have only the summer, which, as we speak, is nearing an end. If my feelings are not made known, if my love goes undeclared…I do not know what I shall do. I cannot part for Miss. Lawrence without relating my feelings for her. I should be miserable."

"I understand," Lizzy remarked dully. Her gaze had returned to her hands.

"But you do not, Lizzy," he said gently, "because you have never loved anyone. You do not understand how it feels." Had he so forgotten his original question that he would accuse her of being ignorant of love?

"No," she replied, keeping her voice detached, "I am sure I do not."

"I have known Miss. Lawrence almost as long as I have known you, Lizzy dear," Darcy continued, as if determined to make her understand, "and, admittedly, paid no heed to her when we were younger, if only to think her a pretty, if not troublesome creature, always underfoot. I believe you contributed to this opinion of her."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Oh, but Lizzy! How wrong I was. How wrong and how blind!" Darcy spoke so earnestly, the depth of his love for Amelia was apparent. How it pained Lizzy to see him so! "This past month I have realized at last the sweetness of her true nature. My eyes have been opened, Lizzy, to see the beauty, both inner and outer, that radiates from within her. In short, dearest Lizzy, I cannot help but wish to make my feelings known to her-to ensure they are reciprocated. I do not know what I shall do if they are not…"

"I am sure they shall be," Lizzy answered, with a trace of sarcasm that went unmarked by her companion.

"I am filled with hope, then," he said. "I only wish that you would abandon your false ideas of Amelia's character. They do you no justice."

Lizzy said nothing. She would not refute her claims. To do so, in her opinion, would be to lie. "Shall you propose to her soon, then?" she asked quietly, picking at her dress.

"Today," he said. "I can wait no longer."

"You will not wait for your father's letter?"

"No. I cannot."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I do not think that is wise!"

"It probably is not," he replied, "but it must be so. I know that to act without his permission is foolish. But what of it? The worse he can do, after all, is to disinherit me. And what do I care if he does? Nothing whatsoever, I assure you." He looked so rapt, so happy, so full of joy that Elizabeth could not bring herself to say anything against his plans.

"Go then, if you must," she said, her heart in her throat. "I will try and be happy for you." She paused, biting her lip. "Only, Darcy, could you promise me something?"

"Of course," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "Anything."

"Try not to forget me."

"Forget you?" he exclaimed, "impossible!" He tugged at her chin. "Forget the dreaded pirate Blondebeard? How dare you even suggest it?"

She smiled sadly. "You are caught up in ecstasy. I shall no longer detain you. Go." Her voice cracked on the word. "Make your intentions known. Declare yourself. And may I be mistaken on the character of your intended! I hope that I am, for your sake."

Darcy was entirely too caught up in his own happiness to notice the maturity and poise with which she carried herself, the absence of her typical childishness and sarcasm, the self-control she had exhibited throughout the entire interview. So too did he fail to notice the sadness in her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks, the ghost of a smile upon her lips.

"I have your permission now," he said, "and it is, indeed, the thing that makes me happiest. You have cleared a great deal from mind, Lizzy. A great deal."

"I have already spoken my mind," she said, "and I apologize for what happened last evening at the card party."

"It was forgiven that very instant," he replied.

She did not remind him of her distrust of Amelia. She could not destroy this mantle of perfect happiness he had assumed. It would be too cruel. He was, after all, her dearest friend, and his happiness was all that mattered now.

"You are my best friend, Lizzy," he said, catching her up in a tight embrace. "And I will never forget you."

"Put me down, I say!" she quipped, in a Lizzyish manner. How resolutely she was struggling to appear happy for him!

He twirled her about some more before setting her down. She frowned up at him in a playful manner. "You had best go now," she said. "Your betrothed grows anxious, I am sure."

He smiled. "Yes. Yes." He repeated it over and over again. "I must go now." He glanced at her. "Will you accompany me?"

She shook her head. "No. I think I'd rather wander in my own way, if you don't mind."

He nodded. "Alright." Bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, he was off down the slope. Elizabeth watched his figure retreat into the forest, no doubt pursuing the short-cut to Longbourne.

The wind had begun to pick up and the sky was darkening. Rain would soon follow. Perhaps even a storm.

Unaware of the weather, Elizabeth remained situated upon the downward slope for some time. She did not cry or weep or show any outward signs of the great depression she had succumbed to. Her eyes, however, as ever betrayed her; they were a misty blue-grey, troubled and filled with tears that refused to be shed.

She would remain there the rest of the day, even when the rain began to pour in turrets, thinking of the question he had never allowed her to answer.

* * *

**Okay…remember. An engagement is NOT final. So don't worry too much yet. They will get engaged, but this is the thing that will help Lizzy grow up. She's not going to let her man get away THAT easily, after all. C'mon…she's the dreaded pirate Blondebeard: ) Thanks for reading, everyone!**

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	12. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

**Wow. Unbelievable reviews. Really. It felt so good to check my email and, instead of having that awful spam mail about winning the international lottery and helping some Oogaboligan royal family escape from their country, I get an inbox full of wonderful reviews. Really. You don't realize how much this encourages me to keep writing. It feels so good that people can actually relate to the characters I've written. ****Sometimes, I feel as if Lizzy and Longbourne and Netherfield and Hertfordshire are all part of a little world. It's so nice to be able to write and escape. (I must confess, I write all over my notes for math and chemistry…so sometimes it can be hard transferring story stuff to the computer without getting trinomials and the periodic table and all that other great educational jazz mixed in : )**

**THE JANE AUSTEN SEASON STARTS SUNDAY NIGHT AT 8:00 on PBS! NEW ADAPTION OF PERSUASION!!! No, I am not obsessed. No, I have not been waiting for this since LAST JANUARY! No, I am not going to watch it when it comes on and record it on my VCR and cry when it is over. No way. WATCH IT!!! **

**I hope everyone has a great weekend! **

* * *

Chapter 12 

_Desperate Times, Desperate Measures_

Elizabeth did not return to Longbourne until supper, where she sat, wan and silent, in her chair at the dining table as Amelia exclaimed over her engagement. Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia, naturally, hung on to every word. They listened, enraptured, as she supplied the particulars.

"He proclaimed his love for me in the most touching manner," Amelia said, all a flush, "and went down upon his knee and asked me to do him the honor of becoming his wife."

"And what did you say?" asked Kitty breathlessly. For her trouble, she received a jab to the ribs by Lydia, who obviously thought the answer was obvious.

Amelia glanced down at her vegetables with a coy smile, her cheeks a becoming crimson. "Yes."

Mrs. Bennet was in ecstasies. "Ten thousand a year, my dear, to be sure and heir to Pemberley!" she repeated parrot-like, her hands clasped together and her eyes shining. By her expression, it appeared _she_ had been the one proposed to.

"He cuts a very dashing figure, I'll give him that," Lydia said, inclined to be generous.

"He is frightfully handsome!" Kitty agreed.

Mary, finding herself compelled to be felicitous, said, "I hope you find happiness in the marital state.

"He is a good man," Jane said softly, her eyes upon Elizabeth. Beneath the table, she took her sister's hand and squeezed it. "A very good man."

Lizzy said nothing to either Amelia or Jane. She sat in stony silence, her eyes riveted to her untouched plate.

Amelia, not expecting any congratulations from _that_ direction, merely nodded to each cousin in turn and inclined her head towards Mr. Bennet, expecting some form of approbation.

He sat at the head of the table, hands folded, eyes contemplative. "This is certainly a surprise, my dear," he said, at length.

"By surprise," she answered, "I suppose you mean it comes rather suddenly."

He nodded. "Indeed. I knew that Mr. Darcy held you in high regard, but I was not aware of how deeply…nor of his intentions to express it."

"Nor was I," Amelia said modestly. Elizabeth stiffened at this statement, which did not go unnoticed by her father.

"I must ask you, Amelia, have you fully considered his proposal?" he asked, watching her closely. "Are you willing to marry so young? Are you prepared to be a good and faithful wife, to devote yourself to Mr. Darcy and remain by him through hardship and challenge?"

"La, Father!" exclaimed Lydia, "as if Amelia would have to endure hardship with an income of 10,000 pounds a year!"

Mr. Bennet ignored such a remark, choosing instead to observe Amelia. He took in her ingenuous air, the manner in which she screwed up her face as though in concentration.

"I have thought long," she answered, after a few moments, "and I believe that Mr. Darcy and I were destined for one another."

"Then I hope, my dear," he said gravely, "that you should prove worthy of him." His eyes were not on Amelia as he said this but Lizzy, who sat, still and solemn, her eyes downcast and her head bowed. "He is a very good, very intelligent man. To have so earned his regard, you must work hard to keep it."

This remark sent Mrs. Bennet into exclamation marks. "Oh! As if Amelia were unworthy of Mr. Darcy! How dare you suggest it! Why, my dear Mr. Bennet, it is Mr. Darcy who is unworthy of her!"

Amelia was quick to contest, however. "I am sure that I am not deserving of the love of such a great man. My dear Aunt Fanny, as much as I appreciate your defense, I must agree with my uncle. Indeed," she said, dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin, "I am very fortunate and must work very hard."

Mr. Bennet nodded, though he appeared to remain unsatisfied. Shortly after dinner was finished, he retired from the table to his library. Elizabeth, meanwhile, excused herself to her room, feigning exhaustion. It was enough of an excuse; she had been walking about the Hertfordshire countryside for a majority of the day, and Mrs. Bennet was too caught up with her niece's engagement to mind her absence in the sitting room.

She was not long alone. Upstairs came Jane, a look of such sweet, sisterly concern upon her face that Elizabeth was finally moved to tears. She wept bitterly into her sister's arms until the candle was spent and cried softly the remainder of the evening as Jane murmured reassurances and stroked her mussed and tangled curls.

* * *

Weeks passed, during which Elizabeth saw Darcy frequently but spoke to him rarely. He was always at Longbourne, paying homage to his Beloved, and Amelia kept him preoccupied to such an extent that he had only a passing smile for Lizzy. 

Elizabeth herself exhausted hours taking long walks about Hertfordshire, a lone figure so altered in spirit that the locals had difficultly recognizing her. Protective measures began to be abandoned. Women no longer worried after pies left to cool on window-sills, the gentry were free to travel to London without fear of being held-up by masked highwaymen, and people felt safe to stroll about the streets of Meryton without being bombarded by mud balls. Indeed, the local police sergeant had such a surplus of leisure time upon his hands that he fell to knitting a scarf for his mother.

It seemed Elizabeth had abandoned her old ways. Instead of following her usual pursuits causing mischief and mayhem, she favored long walks. No one quite knew _how_ far she walked, but she could be seen traversing the hills and dales and valleys and forges of Hertfordshire from sunrise until sunset, from dawn until dusk every single day.

While on these walks, she often stopped in at Haye-Park to pay call upon Lady Piedmont, who received her with great warmth. Many an afternoon was spent, in which they talked of books and geography and Sir Teddy. Their conversations ran the gamut of every conceivable subject, with one exception. _Fitzwilliam Darcy_. He was never discussed.

Secretly, Lady Piedmont was distressed over her young friend's altered personality. Gone was the vivacious mischief-maker with the perennial twinkle in her eye that had become such a frequenter of Haye-Park. She had been replaced by a pale, emaciated girl with a detached, indifferent expression. Lady Piedmont had attempted all in her power to divert her young friend but found herself at something of a loss.

What she _did_ find, however, was a more compliant girl. Elizabeth's willfulness and obstinacy had, for a time, been put aside, and Lady Piedmont took advantage of this lapse in general recalcitrance to inject some 'lady lessons' into their afternoon sojourns.

During tea one afternoon, for example, she subtly addressed Elizabeth on the art of delicate eating.

"Elizabeth, dear," she said, watching as Lizzy downed a tart in one bite, "you must take more measured bites. Eat slowly."

At which suggestion Elizabeth had turned her head and said, "What does it matter how fast or slowly I eat? Does it not all go to the same place?" She had, however, offered no other argument, and, as Lady Piedmont was pleased to note, made an effort to chew smaller morsels.

On another occasion, they had been reading before the fire, with Lady Piedmont positioned on a low settee and Elizabeth situated Indian-style on the carpet.

"Lizzy," Lady Piedmont had said, not raising her eyes from her book, "ladies never show their ankles."

"I am not a lady," Lizzy had answered. Five minutes later, however, she had removed to an armchair.

Such small progress was Lady Piedmont's only consolation in regard to her young protégée.

When she was left alone to her own thoughts, Lady Piedmont often wondered what was to be done about poor Lizzy. It would not do to see her so detached and pliable much longer, and Lady Piedmont was resolved something should be done to return her to her former spirits. Breaking the engagement, of course, was out of the question. Only Mr. Darcy and Amelia were capable of that feat. She could, however, force her young comrades to realize their love for one another. And there was only one conceivable method to do that…

Therefore, she resolutely dispatched a letter to Sir Arnold Piedmont, cordially inviting him and his ward Rupert Pettigrew, a most handsome, elusive, and eligible bachelor, to make Haye-Park their home for the remainder of the summer.

Desperate times, she thought, call for desperate measures.

* * *

"Disinherited!" Amelia cried, her rosebud lips forming a perfect 'o' of surprise. She was situated in the Longbourne sitting room with Mr. Darcy, who was paying his customary afternoon call upon her. "Why, my dear Fitzwilliam, whatever can you mean?" 

Darcy starred grimly at the letter clenched in his hand. "Exactly that, I am afraid," he answered. "I wrote to my father requesting advice the evening before I proposed to you. A week later, I received a response prohibiting any such action." He sighed. "By then, however, it was too late. My love blinded me to practicality and discretion. Not that," he added quickly, observing her face, "I should ever have done otherwise. But I did act without my father's approval, and, when I wrote informing him of our betrothal, he responded with this letter."

"Let me see it!" she demanded with a sharp little cry. When he held the missive out towards her, she snatched it with a sudden vehemence that Darcy attributed to the shock and mortification such news would cause any delicate-natured young woman.

_Darcy,_

_You are, henceforth, disinherited…_

…she read disbelievingly.

Darcy nodded. "Read on."

She scanned the document hungrily, as though hoping for a morsel of hope.

"He demands you remove immediately from Netherfield!" she exclaimed.

Darcy drew a hand across his forehead.

"Why, how cruel it is of him!" she exclaimed, crumpling the letter in her hand. "How heartless! Why…"

"I must ask you to refrain from abusing my father in such a way," Darcy said coldly. "I cannot sanction it."

She was instantly at his feet, begging apology. "Do forgive the violence of my words," she said, "they reflect only the turbulent state of my feelings. Oh, my dear, how I hurt for you!"

He made her rise and reclaim her position upon the sofa. "I should not have spoke so harshly," he said. "After all, it is only right that you should feel anger towards my father. I must confess that I feel anger towards him. Anger and surprise and confusion. I have so many questions!"

"Indeed."

"I have never known my father to act so rashly," he said, "or to take such measures against me."

Amelia glanced at her fingers, which were knotted together in her lap. "What could he have heard of me to force him to take such drastic action? Have I not met him countless times before, during dinner parties and visits? Could he take me in such aversion?"

"Oh, Amelia, you mustn't think he has taken _you_ into aversion!" Darcy exclaimed. "It is only a matter of your…"

"Please do not continue," she said, holding up a hand. "Nothing need be said on that score. I assure you I am acutely aware of my…_circumstances_."

He took her hand. "I hope you are not offended?"

She shook her head. "No. Of course not. I only ache for you. How shall you bear it?"

"I have you, do I not?" he asked quietly, squeezing her hand. "Together, we shall weather this storm and emerge all the better for it, I hope."

At this, she blushed becomingly and murmured praises of his forbearance.

"I am sure this is only a temporary set-back," he continued in the hopeful vein. "When I am allowed to address my father face-to-face, I shall make him see reason. He will understand, I am sure of it!"

Amelia nodded.

"And I am almost certain that he follows his letter to Netherfield. Why else should he ask me to move my belongings?"

Amelia, encouraged by her betrothed's cheery aspect, said, "Together we will make him see reason."

"Once he has become reacquainted with you, my dear, he will have no more qualms on the subject," Darcy assured her. "Then everything shall be restored. But are you sure you feel inclined to support me in my efforts? It is so much to ask…"

She was resolute, however. "Anything to restore you to your proper place, dearest," she answered quickly. "Surely supporting you in your efforts is the best thing I could do."

"This will be a true test of our love, will it not?" he asked seriously.

Her eyelashes fluttered downwards, obscuring her eyes for a fleeting instant. "Indeed… it shall.

* * *

**Next: A ball is in the works…Arnold, Rupert, Mr. Darcy, and Joseph 'Joe' Lawrence arrive in town...things will get interesting!**

**Review of the week: )**

_Darcy, _

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?!!

From,  
Your father 

**This made me laugh so hard,** **CafeAuLait! You don't know how much I wanted to include this letter in this chapter in lieu of the actual one you read above. : )**


	13. Endless Speculation

**Okay. Short author's note this time, since I'm posting this in the library at school and don't have much time. I know I promised a ball…but I did have to include some major plot points…and they took up thirteen pages. Never fear! I've started working on the ball chapter now (boy…is it going to be long!) THE REVIEWS ARE ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC! I would answer them all…but, again, school library. And the bell is about to ring (was supposed to doing research on a debate…but I wanted to work on this, instead.) Okay…MY READERS ARE THE BEST READERS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!! Yep. That's right. I'll answer some of the reviews next chapter, okay.**

**P.S. MASTERPIECE PERSUASION WAS QUITE GOOD! I can't wait for Sense&Sensibility (I actually didn't wait; someone had uploaded it on YouTube and I watched it. WONDERFUL! If you have four hours of spare time on your hands (like I did this weekend) watch it. Andrew Davies is my hero!**

**Kudos, everyone!**

* * *

Chapter 13

_Endless Speculation_

Sir Arnold Piedmont arrived at Haye-Park before his letter of acceptance did…or, rather, would have, had he taken the trouble of writing one. He was a stout, rubicund man in his early sixties, with small eyes set close together over a large, hawkish nose. His hair was not yet grey but an indeterminate color somewhere between black and brown and had been tied back from his sallow face with a yellowed piece of ribbon. Though dressed shabbily, he carried himself with an air of great importance. He was not, by any means, a man to be trifled with.

The man who accompanied him, Rupert Pettigrew, was a tall, handsome youth who appeared the antithesis of his guardian. Dressed in the most fashionable style, though tastefully (as opposed to most young men of the day), Rupert was dashing, carefree, and young. Upon closer glance, however, one might discover a calculating gleam in his eye that matched his guardian's.

"Sir Arnold," Lady Piedmont greeted him, "and dear Rupert. I am _so_ pleased you were able to come on such short notice." She held out her hand, which Sir Arnold clumsily attempted to bestow a kiss upon. He ended up missing. Rupert's attentions, on the other hand, were decidedly gallant. Sweeping her a jaunty bow, he took her hand and held it to his heart.

"Dear Aunt Olivia, I am overjoyed," he said, kissing it lightly, "to see you in such looks!" His eyes flitted past her to the two young ladies exchanging glances in the corner. "Overjoyed," he repeated, his eyes still fixated in their general direction.

Lady Piedmont reclaimed her hand and said pleasantly, "Indeed, Rupert. You are too kind."

"Regular chip off the old block," Sir Arnold said, slapping his ward heartily on the back, as though, in his bygone days, he too had made elaborate bows and kissed ladies' hands with as much gallantry as did his ward. "I couldn't have been prouder than if he was my actual son."

Rupert, grimacing slightly at being thus abused, took a few steps away from his guardian.

"Pray, be seated," Lady Piedmont urged, gesturing to the chairs in front of her.

"Kind of you, most kind of you," Sir Arnold muttered, easing himself in an armchair, with his eyes still darting about the room, alighting upon every article of value. "Quite a place, I must say. Ain't it quite a place, Rupert?"

Rupert replied in the affirmative.

Sir Arnold nodded vigorously. "Yes. Quite a place, Ollie."

If Lady Piedmont were displeased with such a nickname, she did not betray it. "I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting my young protégées," she said pleasantly, motioning towards Caroline and Louisa, who were situated very prettily upon a settee nearby. "They are staying with me for the summer as well, and I am very happy to have their company."

Sir Arnold nodded curtly. "How d'you do?"

"Charmed," Rupert said, with a debonair smile that was no doubt was practiced every morning before the mirror, "to be in the presence of such a wealth of beauty!"

Louisa giggled appreciatively, while Caroline straightened, smiling. Since the disastrous news that _her_ betrothed had become engaged to that mealy-mouthed chit Amelia Lawrence, she had been forced to cast about for other suitable alternatives. And here was the handsome ward of a baronet. What a stroke of fortune!

"Your arrival coincides at a most opportune time," Lady Piedmont said, "for I was entertaining the prospect of giving a ball at Haye-Park only yesterday."

"A ball?" Sir Arnold asked indifferently. "What need have we for that nonsense? Just extra expense."

"What Sir Arnold means to say," Rupert hastily intervened, "is that we have both would greatly enjoy a ball. It would be nice to become acquainted with the local folk. Would it not, Father?"

Sir Arnold grunted an intelligible answer, while Caroline interrupted to say, "I fear you will only find disappointment in further acquaintance with the Hertfordshire natives."

"Are they savages, then?" Rupert asked, leaning forward with a flirtatious smile.

Caroline nodded. "Quite. I have never met with such ill-bred people in all my life."

"We must all have our opinions, I suppose," Lady Piedmont cut in smoothly, "and I find I must take a differing standpoint on the inhabitants of the county. I think them all very amiable and agreeable company."

Caroline rolled her eyes at this and Louisa did likewise. Rupert reclined in his seat lazily, and Sir Arnold, unable to formulate a sentence due to the severe itching of his nose, merely sneezed.

At that moment, the footman entered and announced, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Who?" asked Rupert, straightening, "is Miss Elizabeth Bennet?" He looked faintly curious.

Caroline glowered. "One of the natives. A horrible, harum-scarum wretch of a girl!"

"Caroline!" exclaimed Lady Piedmont.

She said no more, however, because the harum-scarum wretch herself had entered. She was dressed in an old gown, splattered with mud, and her hair was disheveled and windblown.

"Oh," she said, looking around the room, "I had no idea you were entertaining. I should not have come."

"Oh, nonsense!" Lady Piedmont cried, secretly in dismay that Lizzy would make an unfavorable impression upon Rupert in such a state of disarray, while, at the same time, glad she had her company to withstand the afternoon . "Please, do come in."

"I suppose," Elizabeth said. Her customary seat occupied by Sir Arnold, (she thought it extremely impertinent behavior in a guest to confiscate the property of another) she removed to a footstool at Lady Piedmont's feet.

"This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Lady Piedmont said, although an introduction was hardly necessary, as both Sir Arnold and Rupert had taken stock of her name and situation from the footman. "Lizzy, this is my brother-in-law Sir Arnold Piedmont and Mr. Rupert Pettigrew, his ward."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and she looked at Lady Piedmont for confirmation. "Sir _Arnold_ Piedmont?" she asked. "As in the man who…"

"…is my brother-in-law," Lady Piedmont answered quickly. The expression in her eyes silently begged Lizzy to remain silent. "I have invited him to stay with me for the remainder of the summer."

"How d'you do?" Sir Arnold asked.

She starred daggers at him. "Not well, at all."

"Indeed," he replied, unsure of what to say next. "May I inquire what plagues you?"

"Poisonous company," she muttered under her breath. "Rheumatism," she said aloud.

Sir Arnold nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

"Where do you dwell in this charming county of England?" Rupert asked pleasantly, his ulterior motive being to discern whether she was of good fortune or not. He was always attempting to discern whether girls where of good fortune or not. His handsome waistcoats and beautifully tailored jackets _did_ cost a pretty penny, after all. And what better way to pay for them than by taking a wealthy wife?

She looked him up and down with cynical eyes. "Longbourne."

"It is not a great distance from here," Lady Piedmont added, "so Elizabeth visits me frequently."

Satisfied that Longbourne was not the abode of a great heiress, Rupert renewed his attentions to Miss Caroline Bingley, who did them appropriate justice. That left Elizabeth to converse with Sir Arnold and Lady Piedmont.

They lapsed into silence for some moments, as Sir Arnold required time to scratch his nose and Lady Piedmont required time to collect her thoughts.

A few moments later, (his nose being tended to) Sir Arnold cast his eye once more about the parlor and licked his chapped lips. "How are your…financial affairs, m'dear?" he asked Lady Piedmont suddenly. His eyes betrayed a speculative gleam; they were full of morbid curiosity. It appeared that he had been waiting to ask the question for several minutes and had only yet found the opportunity. He addressed himself entirely to Lady Piedmont; Elizabeth he ignored.

Lady Piedmont lowered her eyes to her lace cuffs and played with them nervously. "I am well enough, I suppose. I want for nothing."

He laughed. It was a harsh, barking, dissonant sound. Elizabeth grimaced and wished to put her hands to her ears. "I am sure you are doing _quite_ well with such a set-up as all this."

"Really, sir!" Lady Piedmont exclaimed, snapping her eyes upon his.

"Come, come now. As friends, we must know of each others _situations_ so that we may help one another."

"Are _you_ in need of help, then?" Elizabeth asked coolly.

Sir Arnold allowed his shifty eyes to rest upon her for a moment. They narrowed slightly as they took in her defiant face-her fingers curled about Lady Piedmont's hand. "You might say that."

"Well I cannot see what business it is of Lady Piedmont's," she returned.

"I cannot see what business it is of _yours_," he sneered.

She did not appeared to be moved. "Lady Piedmont invited you here as a friend," she said, "not to help you. I think you had better keep that in mind."

He shrugged. "Mustn't heed the observation. I did not intend to offend, m'dear. Did not intend to offend." There was defeat in his tone; he no longer wished to fight in the presence of such a girl. It was obvious, however, that her impertinence angered him. What right had a fiery young woman to stand between Sir Arnold Piedmont and easy access to money? Lady Piedmont was usually an open pocket.

"Well you certainly _sounded_ as if you meant to," Elizabeth could not help supplying, in a very dour voice.

Lady Piedmont put a restraining hand upon hers. "I fear that such matters are not equal to our current situation," she said quickly. "Can we not be happy in each other's company for the afternoon?" she pleaded. " I am sure such things can be discussed at a later…more appropriate time."

Sir Arnold did not appear satisfied, but he did not argue. With his restless, suspicious gaze, he swept the room again and again, always keeping the corner of his eye upon Elizabeth Bennet. Indeed, he had felt a sort of instinctual antipathy towards from the moment she had swooped in to protect his bird of prey.

Perhaps Sir Arnold had met his match.

* * *

A dusty, drab little man arrived at Longbourne, preceding Elizabeth's return home. It was late afternoon, and he had just arrived in Hertfordshire. There was a briefcase in his hand and a frown upon his face, which marked him instantly as a solicitor.

With solemnity, he requested to see Mr. Bennet, and, with solemnity, he waited in his library, looking over his books and papers. There was, indeed, so much solemnity about him that one might have assumed him to be an undertaker.

When Mr. Bennet entered the room, he introduced himself as Franklin Harpe, the solicitor of Mr. Edward Darcy. He refused all refreshment and all nourishment; no doubt he would have refused a chair, had Mr. Bennet not adamantly assisted. So, with solemnity he sat, and with solemnity he said:

"You are aware, sir, of the disownment and disinheritance of a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, son of Mr. Edward Darcy?"

Mr. Bennet said that he was. Indeed, everyone was.

"Then, perhaps you are curious to know who Mr. Edward Darcy plans on instating as his heir?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he was _most_ curious.

"Well, sir," returned Mr. Franklin Harpe, without the slightest appearance of interest, "the entirety of Mr. Edward Darcy's fortune, which, I can assure you, is considerable, is to pass to your daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet." He paused, checked his watch, and continued. "Pemberley and other such property cannot be passed to her, of course. I believe such has been entailed upon a Mr. Charles Bingley."

At this, Mr. Bennet had nothing to say.

He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe explained the legalistic details. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe laid some papers upon his desk and promised to maintain correspondence. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe rose, dusting off his already dusty garb, and wished Mr. Bennet a good day. He had nothing to say as Mr. Franklin Harpe escorted himself to the door and down the lane, to whoever knows where he was hurrying.

Indeed, he had nothing to say until he heard the footsteps of his daughter on the drive outside and the door opening and her familiar tread down the hallway. Then, he said, "Elizabeth!" very loudly, and she came into his study and asked him what was the matter and he looked at her very long and very hard and took her into his arms and said, "Lizzy, you witch, you are an heiress!"

And she said. "Well, that's hardly a good joke."

And he said. "Indeed, it is not, is it?"

And they laughed very long and hard together at this poor joke... until they both realized that it was not a joke at all.

* * *

Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield the following Saturday. Forewarned by little Paul Standeford that the Darcy coach was rumbling up the hill towards the village, everyone in Meryton was out to greet him. Indeed, they had all rushed to either their windows or the streetside to get a better view of the Darcy cavalcade, which consisted of one large black equipage stacked high with luggage.

"Which means he plans to stay for quite sometime," Mr. Ellis Burstow sagely observed to Millicent, his cow.

As the carriage passed out of the narrow Main Street and onto Netherfield, residents lingered over garden fences and shrubbery and wooden carts to gossip and chatter about the strange set of affairs. What with Mr. Darcy the Younger becoming engaged to the beautiful Amelia Lawrence and Mr. Darcy the Elder promptly disowning him and installing Elizabeth Bennet as his heir…well, it provided room for endless speculation.

"I've heard Darcy is to duel his father!" the Grocer whispered to the Blacksmith.

"Dear me," replied the sergeant, who had been listening while darning a pair of socks. "I do hope there will not be _too_ much bloodshed."

"Daresay there will be," predicted the Blacksmith ominously.

"She is due to inherit _everything_," whispered Miss. Thalia Beeton across the street at the Concerned Citizen's (Meryton chapter) meeting. The chapter had been organized primarily for the purpose of combating the antics of a certain Elizabeth Bennet, but, since the aforementioned's sudden quiescent stage, the Citizen's had not had much business to Concern themselves with. _This_ piece of news considerably brightened their afternoons.

"Wretched girl!" proclaimed Ms Phoebe Longsword, "she once forced my Donald to eat dirt!"

"She tied my clothes line into knots dozens of time!" cried Mrs. Annabelle Griffith, holding a handkerchief to her eyes in distress, "how could she be deserving of such a fortune?"

"Poor Amelia!" said Miss Rosanna Beaufort. "Think of how wretched life will be for her now Mr. Darcy hasn't any money."

"Hold your tongue, Rosanna!" exclaimed her mother.

"Well, it is the truth!" exclaimed Mrs Prudence Eggleston, "he hasn't a dime now. His entire fortune is tied up with his father."

"He has a handsome fortune from his mother, though, does he not?" inquired meek Ms Mary Ellen Gillbanks.

Miss Thalia Beeton sniffed. "Hardly enough to support dear Amelia as she deserves."

"But at least they have each other?" Ms. Mary Ellen Gillbanks tentatively suggested.

"Hogwash!" declared Miss Thalia Beeton. "What does love matter when you haven't any money?"

Next-door, Mr. Gilbert Preston was discussing the matter with his wife at the supper table.

"I think it is a very tangled business," his wife remarked, cutting him a generous slice of ham. "I do not think that Mr. Darcy should have disowned his only son."

Mr. Preston, pausing over his supper contemplatively, replied that he thought his wife had a valid point.

"Indeed, Miss Amelia Lawrence appears a very pretty, genteel sort of girl," she continued, emboldened. "No fortune, of course, but, then, I never thought Mr. Darcy cared much for such material things."

Mr. Preston, cutting into his ham, nodded vaguely.

"I do hope," she concluded, "that things shall turn out well."

Mr. Preston hoped so too, but his mouth was too full to permit him to say so.

At the apothecary, Dr. Dormer was prescribing a medication to Mr. Hammond Bochum.

"Take two pills of this," he said, handing a brightly colored bottle across the counter.

Mr. Hammond Bochum took the bottle and peered very closely at it. "Say, what do you think of this whole Darcy affair?" he asked, pocketing it.

Dr. Dormer scratched his head. "I think perhaps Mr. Darcy has gone slightly mad."

"Indeed, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Hammond Bochum. "And what would you prescribe for that?"

Again, Dr. Dormer scratched his head. "You know, I really couldn't say." Nor could anyone else in Meryton, for that matter.

As Mr. Hammond Bochum exited the shop, he found the streets still crowded with people of all ages and situations talking of the Darcys and the Bennets and the Lawrences and whoever else was connected. Now, everyone buzzed with anticipation of a confrontation between the two Darcys. Alas, they were only to be disappointed, for Mr. Darcy the Younger ( as he was called by the townsfolk) had removed to the Mermaid tavern, a respectable lodging in Meryton, not two days prior and showed no intentions whatsoever of marching up to Netherfield and demanding his inheritance from Mr. Darcy the Elder. Needless to say, the townsfolk of Meryton were all crushed with disappointment at missing such a spectacle.

So came Mr. Darcy to Hertfordshire, and so came the inhabitants of Meryton to the good, healthy gossip upon which they stocked up for the winter.

* * *

It came as no surprise to anyone that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the first person Mr. Darcy requested to see. Immediately upon settling at Netherfield, he sent his carriage round to Longbourne, which she promptly boarded. She was off to Netherfield at once.

She required no escort into the home. With a saucy smile at the immovable butler (she had, indeed, regained some of her vivacity), she made her way down the hallway and to the library, where she was certain of finding her dear Uncle Willy-Ben.

She did indeed find him but not as she had expected. Instead of the spry, healthy man of past summers, she found herself welcomed by a pale, emaciated man with sunken cheeks and eyes and a face so pale as to be almost transparent. Age, which had so long delayed in his favor, had found him at last.

"My dear child!" he cried, in a voice that remained robust and hearty despite his appearance. He took her up into his arms and embraced her tightly. "My dear, dear pirate Blondebeard! How happy I am to see you!"

"Uncle Willy-Ben!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her vexation with him at making her an heiress. "Oh…I am glad to see you too!"

"It has been an entire year," he said, "since last I saw you. How things have changed!" He reluctantly released her, and she found a position on a footstool at his feet. "You, my dear, have changed."

"Have I?" she asked absently, gazing into his face. The careworn lines about his mouth; the thin, papery texture of his skin; the dark circles beneath his eyes all worried her. He was in worse health than she had anticipated. "I believe you have changed, as well."

He nodded. "Yes, my dear. But let us not worry on my account. I am old; it is to be expected."

She gripped his hand. "You mustn't say such things, Uncle Willy-Ben."

He merely smiled.

"I should not be so happy to see you, you know," she said, releasing his hand, "after what you did to Darcy."

Mr. Darcy attempted to look very grave, but the roughish twinkle in his eye betrayed him. "What _did_ I do to Darcy?" he inquired.

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You know very well what you did. Your own solicitor came down to inform Papa last Saturday, and that, I very well know, was at _your_ bidding."

"Well, let us put that matter aside for now. Tell me about my son's betrothed." He paused, thinking. "What was her name again? Amy Lucas? Amanda Rent?"

"Amelia Lawrence," she replied.

"Ah. Yes. Amelia Lawrence." He reclined in his chair, observing Elizabeth. "Well…"

Lizzy frowned. "I shall not be tricked into abusing my own cousin," she said, "nor shall you hear my opinion on the subject of their betrothal. I _have_ no opinion." She paused, meeting his gaze. "You, however, do. You must, after _disowning_ him!"

"My dear girl, what else had I to do?" he asked.

"Talk to him!"

"How could I talk to him when had already engaged himself to the girl?" he asked.

Elizabeth sighed. "You know very well you could have at least had a conversation with him…expressed your anger face-to-face. Besides, you barely know Amelia Lawrence. Do you disapprove of her so much that you are willing to disown your own son because of his attachment to her?"

"I hate it when you speak sense, Lizzy!" he cried, with some humor. "How foolish you make an old man feel! But why do you defend his actions, my dear. I was sure you would be as ready as I to censure them." He had already taken notice of her pallor, her unusually quiet manner, her sad expression. Indeed, he already knew her secret. He had known it far longer than she. Why then, he asked himself, would she take such pains to defend the man who had so injured her?

"I do not defend his actions," she answered, "but I think that I should hate to see my two dearest friends quarrel in such a manner…over something so insignificant as a betrothal!" She paused, looking down at her fingers. "I only want what is best for him…for you both."

Mr. Darcy took her hand. "Do you think marriage to Amelia Lawrence is best for him?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. I only know that he is happiest when around her, and that he is deeply in love with her." She looked down again. " I think, perhaps, he _could_ be happy with her."

"Ah, but _could_ is not certain." He leaned back in his chair again. "What a stew we have gotten ourselves in, Lizzy! And all over this little chit of a cousin of yours. No offense, my dear," he added, observing her expression. "But do tell me, what is so exceptional about her that she should have so captured by son's affections?"

Lizzy turned her attention to the ceiling, thinking.

"Is she high-spirited?" Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth considered. "I suppose you could say so."

"Is she very pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Is she accomplished?"

"She plays the piano and embroiders, if you consider such pursuits marks of accomplishment."

"Hardly," Mr. Darcy replied. "She sounds average to me."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Everyone in the world is average, until touched by love, I believe."

"What is this, Lizzy!" cried Mr. Darcy at this statement. "I have never heard you so sentimental before! Why do you not rant and rave against the chit, eh? Has she not stolen your best friend…your fellow companion in all of those glorious pranks?"

"She _has_ stolen Darcy," Elizabeth answered, "but he was already tiring of our escapades, anyway. I suppose it was only natural that he should tire of them..."

"Oh, my dear, no one tires of childhood."

"Darcy does!" she said. "He does not understand why I cannot tire of it so quickly as he can…but I cannot, Uncle Willy-Ben! I have tried to be ladylike and proper these past weeks, to prove to Darcy that I can understand the adult world…but he has not noticed, and I am sick of it!"

"Sick of what, my dear?"

"Sick of propriety and rules and society!" she exclaimed, "I am sick of everything, really. I want nothing more than to sail far, far away from Hertfordshire. My life here is so dull and unvarying! I want excitement and swashbuckling adventure…not the constant torture my life has become!"

Mr. Darcy took her up into his arms again and comforted her, though she was not crying. "It must be painful, my dear, to see him so attached to another."

"Yes," she replied quietly, her head against his shoulder, "I think it is. I think sometimes I cannot bear it, but I try my best. I go on walks."

"Walks?"

"Yes. Long walks. They clear my mind. I like to imagine that I am walking to Russia…or China…or Spain…sometimes I imagine I am in the Sahara."

"You are quite changed, my dear," Mr. Darcy said. "I did not think to find you so very altered."

She wiggled out of his embrace and reclaimed her footstool. "But I am on the mend, sir. I am not nearly so bad as…as…as I was."

"Indeed."

She nodded. "And I am tired of talking of me. I am quite dull these days, you know." She smiled her best Lizzyish smile. "Let us talk of something else."

"If you insist, my dear," he said, "though I personally find you fascinating."

She bowed. "Indeed, sir. Who could not find the dread pirate Blondebeard fascinating? Anyone who does not find him fascinating is to be cooked in hot oil!"

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Darcy. "Such violence. Now _here_ is the old Lizzy!"

She winked.

"But I must address you on one more serious issue," he said, before she could introduce a brighter topic, "and that is the subject of your inheritance."

"Really," she sighed, "must we talk of that?"

"Have you no thought for your own fortunes, my dear?" he asked, half-concerned and half-amused.

"My fortunes?" she asked. "Why, they are not rightfully mine, sir! And I do not care two monkeys for Darcy's inheritance," she scoffed. "And I never have!"

Mr. Darcy sighed, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Indecision was written plainly across his face.

"I feel I must offer some form of explanation for my actions," he said, "in disowning my son. Do not look at me so harshly, Lizzy. I must have you understand why I did it."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Explain away."

He cleared his throat and gripped the edges of his chair. "I am at some loss of how to explain it exactly, my dear," he said, after a few moments.

"I am listening," Elizabeth said, "and I think I have a vague idea."

"Did you ever love someone," he began slowly, "so much that you felt that necessity required you to play the villain in order to make them see reason?"

Lizzy did not answer. It was, in a sense, a rhetorical question.

He laughed. "This is very difficult, indeed, with you starring at me so solemnly! I shall sound foolish, indeed, when I say I acted only in Darcy's best interests by disowning him and passing his inheritance to you."

"I must ask you again," Lizzy said, "as, I believe I did earlier, to consider if marriage to Amelia Lawrence is not in Darcy's best interests?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, starring at the fire. "This engagement, dear one, interferes with every conceivable wish and desire my heart has fostered. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, I could allow it without interference. As matters stand, however, I must do all in my power to prevent what I believe to be a disastrous alliance."

Silence in the library, unbroken except for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the wall.

"There, I have said it!" he exclaimed. "Perhaps I am cryptic. But I feel no more need to explain myself today. There is, after all, a time and place for everything."

Lizzy nodded. "I believe that will do for serious conversation today," she said playfully.

"You are right," he answered, "I think we had best lay the matter to rest for the time being. Frankly, I am sick of discussing it, and, as it is a rather beautiful day outside, I should like you to take my arm and join me in the gardens."

She rose and stretched obediently, ready to greet the sunshine outdoors. Eager for some exercise, she took his arm and walked slowly outdoors with him, where they whiled away the remainder of the beautiful afternoon talking of pirate lore, Julius Caesar, apricot jam, and botany.


	14. Mon Dieu!

**Okay…so don't be angry. This is not the ball chapter. This is the transformation chapter. It was not supposed to stretch to nine pages…but my imagination ran wild, and I could not resist description. This is not a particular well-written chapter; I know mistakes abound. But I thought it would be nice to post this separately…because everyone has been clamoring for a make-over. (She has needed one.) So…here you are. I will try to post the ball chapter tomorrow or Tuesday, if I can get it finished. This is the part where I say…YOU GUYS ARE THE BOMB. Okay…enough enthusiasm. Don't forget to watch Northanger Abbey tonight!**

**Without further ado...**

* * *

Chapter 14 

Mon Dieu!

Lady Piedmont's ball was scheduled for a Saturday, a fortnight after Sir Arnold's arrival. Everyone who was anyone (and several no-ones who wished to be anyones) in Hertfordshire was invited, and the entire county was aflame with anticipation. It was the first-and probably only-ball of the summer, and, by the rate at which the milliner and dressmaker were doing business, it seemed that every eligible and marriageable _parti_ in the county (and several others, besides) was to attend.

Therefore, Lady Piedmont was under a great deal of pressure, not only to make the ball a splendid affair but to execute her plan to satisfaction…and that plan involved Elizabeth.

The Plan had been fermenting in her mind for quite some time, and it involved four simple steps.

Ensure Elizabeth was looking beautiful the evening of the ball. (Slightly difficult, considering Elizabeth's penchance for breeches…nevertheless, attainable.)

Reintroduce Lizzy to Rupert, who would, no doubt, fall madly in love with her. (Provided he stopped thinking of his own looks long enough to consider anyone else's.)

Ensure that Darcy took proper notice of Rupert falling madly in love with Elizabeth. (Lady Piedmont was quite sure sparks would fly.)

Allow everything to pan out.

Indeed, if things worked out the way she envisioned, one engagement would be terminated and another one begun within a fortnight.

Thus, she had invited Elizabeth to stay with her the day before the ball, on the pretense of requiring her assistance in preparations. This was a false move. Elizabeth was instantly on the alert; she accepted the invitation, certainly, but suspected Lady Piedmont was up to something. The entire concept of her being any assistance whatsoever in ball preparations was laughable; she informed her hostess of this at the door and made a very bold inquiry of what exactly she was up to.

"For you _**are**_ up to something," she said, "and I know it by your expression."

But Lady Piedmont would acknowledge nothing, and, as she seemed determined to remain mum, Elizabeth abandoned questions for the time being.

She had no turn for directing servants on which flowers to arrange and where to put them or which dinner settings required rearrangement or which silverware needed polishing. Instead, she curled up within an armchair in the library and read…trying, all the while, to puzzle out Lady Piedmont's plan.

They came to light soon enough. A good six hours before the ball was to begin, Lady Piedmont found her, and her leisurely activities were put to an end.

"My dear," she said, apparently exasperated, "I have been searching everywhere for you." She took her by the arm and guided her towards the staircase. "Now, you must come quickly before Caroline or Louisa sees you."

Elizabeth did not understand why it mattered whether they saw her or not.

"It matters very much," Lady Piedmont answered, pulling her up the stairs and down the hall to the right. They passed several familiar corridors and doorways, with Lady Piedmont always checking left and right to ensure that Caroline, Louisa, Sir Arnold, or Rupert was not spying. They continued onward in this fashion for sometime until the familiar settings became rather…unfamiliar. Elizabeth vaguely recognized the East Wing, a shadowy, dusty section of the house that was rarely used.

"Where are you taking me, Olive?" she asked, rather intrigued. The East Wing was rarely used; in all of her explorations of Haye-Park, she had never been able to venture far there. The servants rumored it was haunted. Not that Elizabeth minded the occasional ghost; she just had not had time to explore.

"Here we are," Lady Piedmont said, coming to a stop before a large door towards the end of a side hallway. She removed a key from her sleeve and inserted it into the lock. The door clicked, Lady Piedmont turned the handle, and, with a cursory glance behind her, she pulled Elizabeth into the room and shut the door quickly behind them.

"An attic!" Elizabeth exclaimed, taking in with delight the large, cobwebby room with its assortment of dusty old furniture, portraits, trunks, boxes, and other oddities, "how capital! I knew you had treasure somewhere about the place. Now where is it hidden?" She peered into an old vase as she said this, brushing away the dust that had accumulated about its rim and handle.

Lady Piedmont laughed. "Nonsensical girl!" She crossed the room to open a curtain, allowing rays of sunshine, foreign to the room, to stream in and brighten it. "Now," she said, turning, "that is much better." And, walking straight to an intricately carved wardrobe chest that took up a considerable amount of space, she busied herself in opening it.

Elizabeth watched her, curious.

"I am almost certain," Lady Piedmont said, throwing open its doors, "that there is something in here suitable for you to wear this evening, my dear."

Elizabeth could not contain her disappointment upon seeing the wardrobe stuffed, not with skeletons, spiders, or sabers, but dresses. "This is to be the secret, then?" she asked glumly. "_Dresses_?"

"Not just any dresses, my dear," Lady Piedmont scolded, taking down a beautiful scarlet creation, "these were Teddy's mother's gowns. She, my dear, was a lady-in-waiting to the Queen."

"They are very fine," Elizabeth grudgingly admitted, "but nothing comparable to hidden treasure or skeletons…or," she added, as an afterthought, "ghosts. I have not seen one, have you? Most disappointing. Ghosts are usually so obliging."

Lady Piedmont was too busy rifling through the scores of gowns to pay any heed to Lizzy's observations on the supernatural.

"Besides," Lizzy continued, tinkering with an old jack-in-the-box, "I already have a dress for this evening."

Again, Lady Piedmont did not pay any heed to her young companion. "Sir Teddy's mother, as I recall," she said, in deep concentration, "was very near your size, my dear…tall and wondrously slender. A waist like a wand." She cast a glance at Lizzy, as though mentally calculating her measurements. "Yes…I believe any of these gowns will fit you perfectly. We only have to choose the right one. It must be blue…to match your eyes," she cast aside the scarlet gown disdainfully, "and simple…something to accentuate your waist…your height." Again, she scrutinized Lizzy, who was not paying any attention whatsoever but having a swordfight with a rusty suit-of-armor. "Yes, it must be blue." And, having narrowed the selection, her search through the wardrobe became more intense.

At last, with a little cry of delight, she found _It_. Removing a beautiful midnight blue gown from its place behind a crush of other dresses, Lady Piedmont exclaimed, "This is It, my dear! Your dress! Oh! It is _exquisite_!"

"What is exquisite?" Elizabeth asked, abandoning her swordfight.

"This, my dear!" Lady Piedmont exclaimed, holding out the gown.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's just a dress."

"Oh, no!" Lady Piedmont exclaimed, hugging the gown to her chest. "This is certainly _not_ just a dress! Why…Teddy's mother wore it to the Coronation, my dear. She had her portrait painted in it-the very portrait that hangs in a place of honor above the fireplace in the drawing room at Piedmont Park. Just a dress?" she repeated, scandalized. "No! Never!"

Elizabeth shrugged but, not wanting to upset her friend, begged her pardon politely.

"I am sure I have a pair of slippers to match," Lady Piedmont muttered to herself, "but what of jewelry?" She handed the dress gently to Lizzy, then repaired once more to the wardrobe. This time, she opened a drawer beneath the rack upon which the dresses were hung. Moving closer in order to see, Elizabeth gasped when she saw the contents. Displayed upon a lining of black velvet were rows upon rows of priceless jewels. Of all shapes, sizes, and colors, the jewels glimmered in the dim light of the attic.

"Are these the Piedmont jewels?" she asked breathlessly, not daring herself to touch them.

Lady Piedmont laughed. "Heavens no, child! These are mere trinkets. The Piedmont jewels belong to Arnold."

"Trinkets?"

Lady Piedmont nodded, sifting through the jewels. "Surely I can find something appropriate."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. These are all far too grand for me."

"Nonsense!" she insisted. "Besides, you must have something to go with the dress." Lady Piedmont spent several minutes over the jewels but could only find a delicate sapphire hair comb to match the dress. Holding it up to Lizzy's hair, she nodded her approval. "I only wish Sir Arnold did not have the Piedmont Necklace," she said wistfully. "It would have gone so beautifully with your gown."

"The Piedmont Necklace?" Lizzy inquired.

Lady Piedmont smiled. "I am surprised you have not heard of it, my dear. Indeed, I believe it is rather famous." She smiled distantly. "I shall never forget it; it is made of the most beautiful diamonds I have ever seen…all set in pure gold. It's been passed down through the family for centuries." She glanced down at the sapphire comb. "I was only able to wear it once…on my wedding day."

"And Arnold has it?"

"Yes. It is a family heirloom. He acquired it along with the estate."

"Well, then I am very sorry," Lizzy said, "though I cannot see what he wants with it, unless he plans to wear it himself."

Lady Piedmont laughed. "I hardly think so." She closed up the drawer with a discontented sigh and locked it. After closing the doors of the wardrobe, she turned to collect the dress from Lizzy and cradled it gently in her arms. "Now," she said, with Direction written plainly across her face, "we must not waste a second more. I must get you to Sophy."

"Why must I be got to Sophy?" Lizzy inquired, as Lady Piedmont caught her wrist and led her to the door. "She is _your_ maid, is she not?"

"You must be tidied up for Sir Arnold and Rupert," Lady Piedmont replied, meanwhile beckoning Elizabeth follow her out of the gloom of the attic and into the corridor.

Lizzy followed reluctantly, casting a wistful look over her shoulder into the gloriously murky depths she had not had time to explore. "I do not see why I should be made to look presentable for a murderer and his preening ward," she said, after Lady Piedmont had locked the door.

Lady Piedmont smiled slightly. "Attempted murderer, dear," she corrected, leading her down the hallway, from the East Wing to the West. "And Rupert does not _preen_."

"I cannot see what difference it makes," Lizzy muttered under her breath as they came to Lady Piedmont's boudoir, a comfortable, cheery room as far from the East Wing as imaginable. She was ushered inside by her hostess and made to sit at a small table with a looking glass above it. Lady Piedmont rang for Sophy, and they waited silently for the maid to bustle in.

Once Sophy had entered, Lady Piedmont explained the circumstances, made several suggestions in a low voice Lizzy could not make out, and pointed at her. Sophy understood clearly. She approached Lizzy with a small curtsy and set immediately to work.

"I have been itching to have my hands on your hair from the moment we met!" she exclaimed, while gathering an assortment of dangerous-looking weapons together.

Elizabeth sighed. "I am resigned to my fate. Only…please do not hurt me."

Lady Piedmont tsked. "Where has your bravado gone?"

"The same place as my dignity," she replied. "I really do not see why I am so complacent. Only I do not think I had better cross you when you are in such a determined frame of mind."

"Indeed," Lady Piedmont said, "you have learned well, my dear."

Thus, Elizabeth gloomily sat as Sophy began her work. She clenched her teeth in pain as the hairbrush was forced through her hair but uttered no curses or exclamations nor made any attempt to escape. As she had said earlier, she was resigned to her fate.

"I do not think I have seen such hair since the Revolution!" exclaimed Sophy. She was a native Parisian who had been brought to England at the tender age of two but still claimed she had vivid memories of the turmoil. "Indeed, quite wild! Do you ever bother to brush it?"

"No," Elizabeth answered honestly.

"Patience, Sophy, dear," Lady Piedmont advised, as Sophy uttered a very agitated sigh. "_Patience_."

So, Sophy tried valiantly to maintain patience, all the while muttering French curses beneath her breath which Elizabeth struggled vainly to memorize for her book.

A good half-an-hour later, Elizabeth's hair had finally become manageable. Thinking her torture ended, she made a move towards the door, only to be abruptly stopped by Lady Piedmont.

"We mustn't be so premature," her Ladyship said, with a small smile. And then… she called in an army of maids.

It seemed Elizabeth's 'torture' had only just begun.

She was scrubbed and soaped in scalding water, perfumed, toweled off like a dog, powdered and lotioned, made to sit whilst Sophy arranged her newly manageable hair in a coiffure that took who knows how many pins and combs and minutes, perfumed again, then dressed in the _exquisite_ gown.

As Sophy bustled about, directing the maids on which lotions to use and which perfumes to apply and which pins she needed and how hot the water should be, her expression became perceptively brighter. She looked at Elizabeth with increasing warmth and her curses began to turn into positive expressions.

Her freckles, Sophy declared, were endearing and leant interest to her face. Only an hour before, she had referred to them as 'those blasted dots'. Her eyes were such a color, Sophy cried. Earlier, she had dismissed them as 'entirely too bright and mischievous'. She continued onwards in this fashion, making such a fantastic hypocrite of herself that Elizabeth was almost inclined to burst out laughing. She did not, however, for fear that Sophy would do something horrible to her…like brush her hair again.

Nevertheless, she was made to do several horrible things.

She was made to wear stockings and a pair of Lady Piedmont's shoes that mercilessly pinched her toes. She was made to wear elbow-length silver gloves that scratched at her skin and confined her fingers. She was made to rub bitter beeswax on her lips to make them shine.

When all that was said and done, she was made to stand before a full-length mirror and admire herself. Only she could not admire herself, because she could not recognize herself. The girl reflected in the mirror was not Elizabeth Bennet, the scraggly hoyden with the unruly hair. Of that, Lizzy was quite certain.

Everyone, from Lady Piedmont to Sophy to the bevy of maids, was speechless. _**No one**_ spoke.

The young woman starring back at her in the mirror was a Vision. Her light-brown hair was wound up about her head, laced with dark blue ribbon. A long curl fell gracefully against her powdered shoulder, ivory white against the indigo dress. Her eyes glittered, matching the tiny sapphires in her comb; long, black lashes framed them. The eyes had not changed but been accentuated; the dress set them off to perfection. Her lips, touched with beeswax, were rosy and full; her brows, straight and arched. The midnight blue gown set off her height, her waist, and her slimness to perfection. It fit her so exquisitely that it appeared to have been designed for her.

"Mon dieu!" cried Sophy, breaking the silence. "I am in ecstasies!"

"Oh, Lizzy," breathed Lady Piedmont, with glistening eyes. "I had not expected this."

"I have never seen someone so beautiful!" whispered one of the maids.

"It is not the same girl!" another insisted. "It is not possible!"

Elizabeth turned to the side, inspecting herself. Of all the assembled crowd, she seemed the least surprised at her transformation. Perhaps it was due to her skepticism; she did not believe the image in the mirror…she thought it a mere illusion.

"I daresay I look rather nice for a change," she said, at last, "but I would much rather not be seen like this." She stepped away from the mirror and stood in front of Lady Piedmont. "I have a notorious reputation to live up to, after all. And I cannot be notorious in such a get-up as _this_." She patted the dress. "I can barely move…let alone conduct nefarious plots."

Lady Piedmont laughed, dismissing the maids. "I am afraid you will have to. I am certainly not allowing you to change."

There was a knock at the door and a footman entered, bearing a silver tray. "This arrived for Miss. Bennet," he said, looking around the room for her. "I was told she was up here, your ladyship, but I do not see her."

"Frank, you fool!" Lizzy cried, striding towards him. "Who do you take me for?"

He started, paled, and then laughed. "Why, begging your pardon, Liz, I did not recognize you!"

She raised her eyebrows, taking the small box atop the tray. A note was attached. "Well, then. I am very sore with you."

He laughed, looking her over. "Well…well…well." As if remembering Lady Piedmont, he suddenly stiffened and said, "Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?"

"Go and drink a bottle of sherry," she said, opening her letter. He bowed again, winked at her, and then slipped meekly out the door again…quite willing to comply with her request. He was also eager to spread the news of the imp's transformation into a Beauty amongst his fellow footmen.

Upon Frank's departure, Elizabeth opened the box…and promptly gasped…

…for arranged within folds of black velvet was the most spectacular piece of jewelry she had ever beheld. It was a necklace, upon which small blue sapphires were arranged in circular settings…but words would do it no credit. There was nothing that could be said in its favor; it had to be seen to be believed.

_Dreaded Pirate Blondebeard, (Ran the note)_

_This is to match your eyes, Imp. You mustn't sell it on the Black Market. Consider it plunder._

_Your Most Humble Subject,_

_E. Darcy_

_'Uncle Willy-Ben'_

Lady Piedmont was rendered speechless for the second time that evening. When she had recovered her voice, she said, "Do you have any idea of the value of this necklace?"

Elizabeth shook her head.

Lady Piedmont shakily sat down. "May I?"

Lizzy handed it to her.

Lady Piedmont gazed at it for several minutes before saying, in a low voice, "This belonged to Anne Darcy. Do you know who she was?"

"Darcy's mother," Lizzy answered. "Of course I know who she was."

Lady Piedmont shook her head. "Priceless," she whispered, to herself. "Oh…Lizzy…do you have any idea…"

"No," Elizabeth answered, "and I think I'd rather not. Anyway, it is too beautiful for me…"

"Oh no, my dear!" Lady Piedmont interrupted, "it is just what you needed." And she gently removed the necklace from its box, undid the clasp, and put it around Elizabeth's neck. There it rested, confirming Lady Piedmont's statement. Elizabeth touched it with wonder.

Only then did Lady Piedmont realize what an unexpected turn her plan had taken…

* * *

Next chapter: THE BALL!!! I promise. Just wait for Darcy's reaction: ) 


	15. Having a Ball

**Okay. I must first begin with an apology. I must also acknowledge the fact that I am a liar. I know that I promise this chapter would be out last Monday. And I am so sorry! Really. And, though I should not be excusing myself, I must tell you that I had an English essay due. And this English essay was pretty important to my overall grade. So, as much as I wanted to write the ball chapter, I had to work on the comparison/contrast essay. Please, please, please forgive me.**

**That being said, I just want to say…for the millionth time…that you guys are the BEST! Seriously. I could not get over how excited everyone was about the ball. It really made my day to know that people actually get excited about a BALL!!! So 19****th**** century…so awesome! **

**Okay…so now I just have to remind you to buckle your seat belts. You are in for a bumpy ball: ) **

_P.S. This is the longest chapter ever...and it is dedicated to all my lovely and wonderful readers!!!_

**Peace out, guys!**

* * *

Chapter 14 

_Having a Ball_

Darcy needed to find Lizzy. He had come to the ball early for that purpose. More than anything, he needed to talk to her, to ask her how the interview with his father had gone, how he had looked, and what he had said.

For the past several weeks, he had been juggling the overwhelming feelings of tenderness and devotion towards Amelia with the feelings of regret and remorse that stemmed from his actions towards his father. He was not upset over the transfer of the inheritance-he thought it amusing that it should pass to Elizabeth-but he _was_ upset over the breach in communication that had occurred as a result. The close relationship he had always had with his father was gone now, and he could not bear the loss.

Then, there was Lizzy herself. Lavishing attentions upon his newly betrothed, he had not been able to see her as often as he used to. They had spoken only in passing, nothing more than a few words. How he missed their old conversations! Yet, a sort of awkwardness had come between them. Again, he felt the ties that had always bound them so inextricably beginning to dissolve away, and this saddened him greatly. But what could be done? He had chosen Amelia, had he not? And, if marriage to Amelia cost the loss both of his father's regard and Elizabeth's friendship, then was it not worth it? He tried to tell himself it was. But he was not sure, and this uncertainty plagued him.

Haye-Park was looking particularly fine that evening, if that was any consolation. Darcy cheered himself with this observation. Lady Piedmont had orchestrated everything to perfection; the rooms were beautifully lit and decorated with local greenery; not a single hothouse flower to be found. He appreciated the softening effect of the candlelight and the gentle hum of the orchestra, the whir of the couples already dancing, and the crunch of the driveway gravel, heralding the arrival of more guests. He paid his due regards to Lady Piedmont in the receiving line, became acquainted with her brother-in-law and his ward, and made some trifling remark to Caroline, who, thankfully, had removed her talons to a more fortunate man and was pretending he didn't exist. Then, he entered the ballroom, already moderately crowded, in search of a Bennet who could point him in the direction of Elizabeth.

He found Mr. Bennet near the punch bowl, surveying the room cynically.

"Mr. Bennet," he said.

"Ah, Darcy," Mr. Bennet replied, turning to him. "I am glad to have the company of another sane man. Did you just arrive?"

"Yes," Darcy replied, a little hurriedly, "and, as much as I would prefer to remain with you here, I must speak with Lizzy. Do you have any idea where she is?"

"Do I ever?" he asked, smiling. "No doubt she is sulking in some corner…"

Darcy nodded.

"Feel free to stop by once you've found her," Mr. Bennet said, patting him on the back.

Darcy smiled tersely. "_If_ I find her," he corrected, departing once again in search.

Nearing a table of matrons, he spied Mrs. Bennet and went to speak with her. Desperation drove him to it.

"Ah!" she cried, spotting him first, "if it is not dear Mr. Darcy? Are you searching for your Amelia, my dear sir? If so, you have not far to look…"

Darcy smiled. "I am afraid it is not Amelia that I must find, Miss. Bennet, but Lizzy."

"Elizabeth?" cried Mrs. Bennet, "why, whatever could you want with her?"

"I must speak with her," he replied, feeling his patience flagging. "Do you know where I could find her?"

Mrs. Bennet laughed. "La! I would be the last to know where that child is. Besides, I have not seen her all day. She spent the afternoon with Lady Piedmont." This last sentence was said with a great deal of pride…and very loudly, so that all the surrounding company might hear.

Disinclined to continue the conversation, Darcy bowed again and was off before Mrs. Bennet could say anything further.

The next person he came across was searching for _him_. "Hullo, Darcy!" cried John good-naturedly. Despite his severance of ties with Elizabeth, he still clung to his acquaintance with Darcy, hoping someday it would come in useful to him. In John's opinion, it was always a good idea to keep rich friends about. "Have you seen the Beauty?"

"No," Darcy replied, wishing to remove himself. Like Elizabeth, he did not care much for John's company.

John frowned. "Well, that is too bad. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes upon. I have been trying to ask her to dance these thirty minutes…but I cannot get near enough."

"Well, I am very sorry," Darcy returned, scanning the ballroom for Lizzy. "I wish I could help you."

John shrugged. "I doubt even _you_ could, sir. Now, look there," he pointed to a cluster of men against the far wall, "she is somewhere within that mob. I do not know how she gets along. Everyone is straining for a look at her. Incomparable, they say. _Incomparable_." He slapped Darcy on the back at this statement and looked again at the 'mob'. "I do wish I could ask for her hand. It would be an honor, it would."

Darcy nodded, not knowing or caring to what he was assenting. "Well, I wish you the best of luck in securing her hand," he said tersely, and, without a further word, was striding off towards Kitty and Lydia, both of whom he had spotted, looking rather despondent, near a potted plant.

"Good evening, Darcy," they chimed together, not bothering to curtsey. Like everyone else in the room, their eyes were focused on the growing mob around the mysterious Beauty.

Darcy murmured something polite and bowed.

"It is our first ball," Kitty explained, her eyes still focused on the mob, "and we have not a soul to ask us to dance. They are all standing around the Beauty."

Darcy had no care for the Beauty. He needed to find Lizzy, and this simpering Beauty was proving to be quite a nuisance in his search.

"It is not fair!" Lydia cried, stamping her foot. "Why should someone be allowed to steal our ball? Why…I was sure all the officers would be quite taken with us! I spent so long preparing…and this is a new dress!" She pointed at the fashionable lemon-chiffon gown she was wearing. Darcy paid her a trifling compliment, feeling it necessary. She ignored him.

"If you want Amelia," Kitty said, casting her first glance in his direction, "she is somewhere near Mama."

Darcy shook his head. "I need to find Lizzy."

"Oh!" Lydia laughed. "What a joke! As if anyone could find her!" She laughed again. "La! Mr. Darcy, how very droll you are!"

Darcy did not appreciate being referred to as 'droll'. For the sake of time, however, he let it pass.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy," Kitty said, tugging at his sleeve. "Would you ask me to dance? It would be _such_ a consolation."

Darcy certainly did _**not**_ want to ask her to dance, but she looked so very forlorn…and then suddenly so very hopeful, that he felt he could not refuse. With one last glance about the ballroom, he led her to the floor and danced the minuet. After leading her back to her sister, he resumed his search for Elizabeth.

"Have you seen her?" asked one breathless young man, whom he had accidentally bumped into. "Have you seen her?" he repeated wildly, running his hand through his hair. "I think I should die of love…if I should so gaze upon that lovely face once more. Oh! The agony! I feel my heart burning with it!"

By this time, Darcy was very much annoyed. "For Heaven's sakes, man," he cried, "pull yourself together!" And he promptly side-stepped as the man staggered onward, lost in reverie.

"Where is the Imp?" Darcy muttered under his breath, straining to see through the crowd. Inexplicable frustration seeped through him at being so unable to find her. Never before had she chosen to make herself so scarce. He searched all the nooks and crannies of the ballroom…but, apart from a man smoking a cigar, a couple locked in an amorous embrace, a weeping young woman, and an elderly man talking to the air, he found nothing remotely resembling his blueberry-eyed friend.

Further conversation with Lady Piedmont yielded nothing. Besides looking faintly amused, she murmured something about Lizzy 'being previously occupied' before gliding gracefully off to fulfill her duties as hostess.

Blood boiling now with anger instead of frustration, Darcy threw himself down upon a sofa and sulked with his best glowering expression. Not only did it frighten away prospective young ladies and their mamas, it succeeded in making him look very, very cross…which served his purpose.

It was not long, however, until yet another wide-eyed man found him, to stutter, in a tremulous whisper, that he had just seen the Beauty.

Darcy, by this time, hated the Beauty with every fiber of his being and wished her as far from Haye-Park as humanly possible.

"Eyes like sapphires," the man said, with little regard for Darcy's animosity towards the object of his praise. "Oh…be still my beating heart! Be still!'

Darcy rolled his eyes in aggravation and made a move to stand. He was restrained, however, by the young man.

"I feel a Shakespearean turn!" he cried suddenly. "I shall compose a poem about her eyes this very instant! Shall you do me the honor of listening, Mr. Darcy? Everyone knows what an ear you have for poetry!"

Darcy had no intention of staying to listen, but, with another glance about the room, realized he had nothing better to do with his time. Better listen to an amateur Shakespeare than be bombarded by dance partners. "Certainly, Walter," he replied blandly, retaining his seat.

The young man, otherwise known as Walter Long (though he fancied himself something of a Cornelius, having, as his mother loved to say, a natural predilection for all things poetical…even names; indeed, he had never been so ashamed as when had come out of the womb only to be named _Walter_). "Oh, thank you, sir. You are too kind!" And he cleared his throat, gazed thoughtfully in the direction of his muse (though he could no see her, for she was still surrounded by a throng of men), and began:

_Blue as the sky_

_Oh why_

_Can I not buy_

_Myself a pie_

_Oh my oh my_

_I sigh_

_To gaze by the sky_

_Of her eye_

_Which, as they lie_

_Are so dry_

_I must cry_

_To think why_

_She does not lie_

_To my pie_

"Beautiful," Darcy commended dryly.

"Perhaps it wants refinement," Walter mused, "especially in consideration of the pie. I do not think it applicable to the situation. Perhaps sty would be more appropriate…as in the sty of her eye. What say you?"

But Mr. Darcy had nothing to say. Sudden inspiration had struck, and he was already standing. "Whatever you think, Walter," he said, clapping the young man upon the back, "now, perhaps you might point me in the general direction of your blue-eyed goddess."

"Certainly, sir," Walter replied, snapping to attention. "Do you mean the goddess who possesses my bodice…" he blushed heavily… "I mean heart. The rhyming mode has set upon me like an infection! I believe you may find her over _there_."

"Thank-you," Darcy said, shaking his hand. "And good luck with your sonnet."

Walter bowed his head, composing yet another poem.

_You are most welcome, sir_

_I shall not stir_

_Do you concur_

_Until my fur _

_Is brushed f or her_

Darcy, however, was already striding towards the mob and had no time to lend his sanction upon the verse. The crowd of men, which had been increasing throughout the evening, was now so thick as to be almost impenetrable. Using his height to advantage, Darcy began to push past the simpering and the lovelorn, the rakes and the dandies, the old and the young. He would not abandon his cause; he would see this Beauty and judge for himself. Indeed, she had so disrupted his evening that he was determined to find fault with her.

But when he pushed his way through the crowd to its heart, he had no words with which to condemn or admire. He had, as a matter of fact, no words at all. They escaped him, as did all thought…all reason….and all time.

It was as if there were no crowd of men, no music in the background, no ballroom, no people…he was standing there, certainly, with no one but the Beauty. He was, for that moment, blissfully unaware of anyone in the room but _her_.

Everything stopped…even his heart, for that small space of time with which he first set eyes upon her. For, indeed, though he had known her face as well as his own for seven-odd years, it was as though he were seeing her for the first time.

When, at last, he returned to consciousness and cognitive reason, he had to remind himself that it was his Lizzy standing before him, not the Beauty. But the Imp he had been searching for had transformed into a breathtaking young woman, and he had not, for the first time in his life, the faintest idea how to approach her.

Here was his dear Elizabeth, he thought-for, unlike the others, who had not been able to recognize her, he had known her the moment he had seen her-all grown up. She was no longer Lizzy, the mischievous rapscallion, she was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the lady. And, somehow, he had missed the gradual transformation. Indeed, he had been entirely too preoccupied to notice.

"Thank heavens!" she exclaimed, once he had forced his way over to her side. "I am glad you have decided to remember me."

"Of course I remembered you," he relied, uncertainly. His treatment of her the past few weeks came flooding back to mind, and he could not help but feel pangs of guilt. "Though you are right to rebuke me. I have been sadly preoccupied these past few weeks…but I never once forgot you."

If Elizabeth was pleased with this statement, she did not reveal it. "I hardly think you should call it _sadly_ preoccupied. Where you not with Amelia?"

"You know what I mean," Darcy replied, with a dark glance alluding to the business with his father.

She nodded in understanding, though slightly dismayed. "But I think we had best save the conversation for…" she trailed off, for Darcy was not paying any attention to what she was saying. Instead, he was looking at her, with a sort of confused, distant expression upon his face. Inwardly, he was marking the sort of maturity that, though only just burgeoning, was, at last, apparent in the movements, appearance, and gaze of Elizabeth.

The subject of his musings, however, unable to guess the nature of his aloofness, inquired, "Well, are you cross with me, or have you discovered a sudden interest in contemplating the nature of existence during the middle of a civil conversation?"

"No," he replied, coming to his senses. He rubbed his head. "I was just wondering what business you have looking so beautiful tonight. Is this part of some grand scheme?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No," she answered. And then, with slightly embarrassed expression, she asked, "Darcy, has it ever occurred to you that I might want to look _presentable_ for a change?"

He laughed. "Did you not once tell me you were _never_ presentable?"

"Well," Lizzy replied, banishing embarrassment, "then I am merciless hypocrite."

Their conversation was, at this point, disturbed by her flock of admirers, each loudly protesting Darcy's allotted time with the Beauty…which had, by their calculations, had exceeded the bounds of decency. Two minutes, after all, was hardly proper for any young man to converse with any young lady. Everyone else had been spared only thirty seconds.

"This Darcy fellow is a great upstart!" was the general outraged cry.

Elizabeth did what she could to subdue them, but she was not skilled in the art of masculine flattery and only made the situation worse by declaring, "Oh! Do be quiet! I cannot hear Darcy for all your mutterings!" Turning to her beleaguered companion, she observed, "I have never encountered this problem before. It is rather a novelty, don't you think?"

Darcy thought it was, indeed, a novelty that she had become so very popular with the gentlemen. Before, she had been their worst enemy, bombarding them when at all possible with sharp retorts and sharper objects. Now, however, the situation was quite reversed.

"I would much prefer to leave this to Amelia's lot," she continued.

Darcy shrugged, allowing the slight against his fiancé to pass unremarked upon. "Your sisters are quite despondent over lack of partners."

Elizabeth tapped her fan impatiently against her dress. "But what am I to do? Do you have the faintest idea of how to be rid of a masculine hoard?"

Darcy smiled crookedly. "Do you really believe _me_ the best person to consult on such a matter?"

She laughed. "I am sure you have great expertise in such matters. But, come along Sir Lancelot, surely you are more adept at rescuing damsels in distress? Can you not cook up some chivalrous scheme?"

"Usually," Darcy reminded her, "you rescue yourself. Thus, in your case, I have never had much practice. Besides, why should I rescue you? Have you not left me to muddle through my own scrapes?"

"Certainly not!" Elizabeth protested. "You are an ungrateful, shortsighted wretch, indeed! I always rescue you!" Her eyes glimmered; for the first time that evening, she was enjoying herself.

"Tell me what to do, and I shall do it," he relented, bowing slightly in fun. "Shall I fight them off while you run?"

Lizzy laughed. "I have a much easier and less violent solution."

"I am on pins and needles to hear it!"

"Ask me to dance."

Darcy started, surprised. "Dance?" he asked, quite puzzled. "But I thought you hated dancing!"

"I do," she replied, "but I would much rather dance with you than any of these codswallops."

He smiled, reassured by her statement. "I am glad to see that their flattery has not gone to your head."

Taking her hand and clutching it tightly, he led her through the sea of men, which parted before them. As envious eyes looked on, they made their way through the assembled crowd and among the other dancing couples-which, due to Lizzy's coterie, constituted a rather small number. Taking position at the head of the row, they awaited the next dance, smiling and chattering; both radiant, aware of no one save each other.

As Lady Piedmont looked on, from her position near an eminent politician, she could not help but feel the jubilation of success. For, her keen eye easily distinguished the sudden awakening of something that had always existed, yet had only required a small push to become known.

* * *

Amelia, outwardly her composed and delicate self, was inwardly seething with rage at the presumptuous upstart who was commandeering all of _her_ attention. Why should people be so congratulatory towards Elizabeth Bennet, who had endured no hardships, when _her_ fortune (as she had begun to think of it) had been so cruelly taken away? What right had people to cluster about her cousin, offering their best wishes, when she was suffering? Everything had been taken from her, except her love…but, then, what was love when one hadn't the money to cultivate it? Without money, Darcy was merely a remarkably handsome and intelligent man, and Amelia had plenty of those at her disposal. 

What then? She could not abandon him, for, if she did that, he would merely reclaim his fortunes and bestow his affections upon another-much unworthier-creature. She could not bear to think of anyone else as mistress of Pemberley. Then again, she could not allow Elizabeth Bennet to inherit her fortune.

She could also not stand by the entire evening, allowing Lizzy to bask in her newly discovered popularity. Amelia could not withhold jealously, for, the mob of men surrounding her cousin had, only weeks ago, surrounded her. Now, however, she was engaged. The freedom of flirtation was forever lost to her. Instead, she had to devote her heart to one man. Amelia could, for his inheritance, bear such a hardship. But to be penniless…practically destitute! She did not think she could stand it any longer.

What was to be done, then? Amelia sipped her punch, considering the alternatives before her. Either she could deal placidly with her future or confront fate head-on. Being of a naturally offensive nature, Amelia decided to go with the latter. Therefore, she set off to find Mr. Darcy and set the matter of _her_ inheritance to rights. Then and only then would she be guaranteed her rights.

Her search proved easy.

"Mr. Darcy," she said tentatively, finding him near a quiet corner of the ballroom, gazing at the dancing couples with a half-smile. "Sir?" she asked, trying to attract his attention. "May I beg a word, sir?"

He turned to her, the half-smile still upon his lips. "I do not believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance, madam. But may I presume to suppose you are none other than Miss Amelia Lawrence?"

She curtsied, dimpling. An auspicious start!

"Yes, indeed," he murmured, "I find you exactly as I imagined."

She blushed becomingly. "I hope I am to your satisfaction, sir."

He laughed. "Though I cannot see why that should matter. Come, child, put aside this coyness. Do you love my son?"

Slightly taken aback, Amelia nonetheless had a ready reply. "With all my heart," she replied sincerely. She remained composed and unmoved beneath his scrutiny, her ivory cheeks only slightly reddened.

"And do my actions hurt you?" he asked, after a few moments. "Do you think me excessively cruel?"

Indeed, this approach took Amelia by surprise. She had not expected Mr. Darcy to approach the subject so bluntly. Thus, her reply was not so composed. "For myself, sir," she began respectively, eager to meet his approbation and remedy the situation, "I seek nothing. My thoughts are all for my dear Fitzwilliam. Since your…_actions_," she said, for lack of an appropriately neutral term, "he has been remarkably cast down."

"Oh really?" Mr. Darcy asked, observing his son laughingly go through the dance motions with Elizabeth. "He looks happy enough to me." Indeed, his son did not, at that time, seem the slightest bit concerned with his situation. He had eyes only for the beguiling girl beside him.

Following the direction of his gaze, Amelia observed her fiancé. "Indeed, sir," she said, a good deal more sharply, watching as he and Lizzy turned merrily, "he is adept at concealing his emotions."

"Is he?" Mr. Darcy inquired flippantly. "I never thought so. But then, I have known him only one-and-twenty years…you have the advantage of an intimate acquaintance of a few months. Naturally, you should know him better than I."

Amelia was, at this statement, quite taken aback. How cutting was the implication behind Mr. Darcy's words…and yet how calm and unruffled he spoke them! There was nothing to suggest vehemence in his stance; indeed, he looked amused! What was she to make of _this_?

Mr. Darcy spared her the consideration. "May I be blunt with you, Miss Lawrence?" he asked civilly. His gaze was not upon her, but rested still upon the tall couple weaving their way through the dancers. "You seem to take a steady, businesslike approach to life. Thus, I think we may speak as associates."

"Of course, sir." Amelia was relieved. Such a direct approach to the situation was just what she had desired. How clever of Mr. Darcy to have so quickly penetrated to the heart of the matter! As matters stood, she would be very happy to have him as a father-in-law. Indeed, she was determined to make him a very handsome gift upon her marriage. A mahogany desk would do very nicely, she decided. Then again, perhaps that was _too_ handsome. A set of nice quills would do just as well.

Thus resolved, she smiled beatifically upon him, anticipating his words and preparing a pretty speech of gratitude in response.

Mr. Darcy did not look once upon her. "Let me say first, my dear Miss Lawrence, that I find your company most _enlightening_." He smiled here, as though at an inward joke. Amelia was too preoccupied with debating between whether to refer to him as 'dear Papa' or 'most esteemed sir' to notice. "And I am sure that my son harbors some form of a strong attachment to you."

She nodded expectantly, wishing he would proceed with his reconciliation so that she might recover her stolen property before he could dance another set with Elizabeth.

"And I admire your resolve and complete disinterestedness in seeking me out," Mr. Darcy continued, "your sentiments betray your natural selflessness."

Amelia murmured modest thanks.

He smiled mildly, at last turning his eyes upon her. The dance had ended and the couples were dispersing, but Darcy maintained a close-almost defensive-proximity to Lizzy. It appeared they were to dance another. "I must be painfully honest, Miss Lawrence. My years embolden me to speak the truth."

"Do not be afraid of offending me, sir," Amelia soothed.

Mr. Darcy laughed. "What a minx you are!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I should almost be deceived by you myself! Oh, what a heartless and mercenary wretch you are, Miss Lawrence. I can see in an instant that you are only after a Fortune. What a pity you must involve my son!"

Amelia's mouth dropped; all thoughts of 'dear Papa' and 'most esteemed sir' evaporated from her mind. Had she not good breeding, she should have called him any number of things.

"If you entertain any hopes whatsoever of my relenting upon the matter of my son's inheritance, then I advise you to dismiss them immediately," Mr. Darcy continued. "I would cast Darcy's inheritance to the four winds before _you_ were ever allowed to benefit from it!" He smiled again. "Saying such, I must beg your pardon, of course. No doubt you think me insufferably rude. I hope I have not offended your delicate sensibilities. Indeed, Miss Lawrence, I believe you are genuinely blushing for the first time in your life!"

He spoke the truth. There was no affectedness in the heated glow that now spread across Amelia's face. For the first time in her life, Amelia Lawrence, the _true_ Amelia Lawrence, that is, was revealed. Her eyebrows slanted viciously, her mouth turned into an unbecoming pout, and her eyes glittered murderously. Words, however, escaped her.

"To be perfectly honest, I should wish to have nothing more to do with you," Mr. Darcy said blandly, "and must beg your pardon. Saying such, however, I must also add that you are looking remarkably pretty this evening…but nothing in comparison to that radiant young lady _there_." He pointed to Lizzy, who was dancing yet another set with Darcy. "She is worth a hundred of you," he whispered, passing her, "and I beg you not to forget it." He bowed courteously. "However much you think you are the sole possessor of my son's heart….you are mistaken. His love for her runs much, _much_ deeper than the infatuation he feels for you. He has only to recognize it. Indeed, I believe tonight he may have. Be forewarned, Miss Lawrence. And good evening."

* * *

"What have you said to Miss Lawrence?" Lady Piedmont inquired of Mr. Darcy. He had made her way over to her side, ostensibly for the purpose of complimenting her on her arrangements. "I presume you have met her?" 

Mr. Darcy nodded.

"And did you find her a handsome, agreeable girl?"

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Indeed."

"Then why, pray tell, is she so very sour in expression and pale in countenance?"

Mr. Darcy laughed again. "I do not think you need concern yourself with her. I have just given her a nice set-down."

"Indeed?" Lady Piedmont raised her eyebrows. "May I inquire further?"

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Ah, how you pry!"

Lady Piedmont smiled. "Indeed, you know my ways very well, sir. Have we not been old friends these twenty years?" She spoke the truth. With a mutual friend in Mr. Bingley, the Piedmonts and Darcys had long known one another. Lady Piedmont herself had been an intimate of the late Mrs. Darcy, and her friendship with the Darcys had thus been sealed.

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes. "I see you must have it out of me. But I shall spare you the sordid details."

"You are too cruel," her ladyship protested, with a smile, "those are my particular favorites."

"Indeed. I am sorely disappointed to hear you say so." He, nonetheless, related his interview with his son's betrothed with a great deal of relish. At its conclusion, Lady Piedmont was torn between a desire to laugh and a desire to cry.

"I almost feel sorry for the girl," she said, at length, "to have her hopes so cruelly dashed. I am sure she expects nothing now?"

"Oh no, indeed. From what I can see, she is a determined minx. No doubt she shall puzzle out some plan to restore Darcy to his rightful place. Perhaps she shall poison me!" Here, Mr. Darcy laughed heartily. Lady Piedmont, on the other hand, managed only a strained smile.

"I certainly hope not," she said. "But, my dear Mr. Darcy, you must consider the matter more seriously. I myself have given it a great deal of thought."

"Have you?"

"Indeed, yes," Lady Piedmont answered, "and I hope, in your dislike of Miss Lawrence, you shall not also be engendering a dislike in your son. Your relationship with him should not, in my opinion, be made to suffer. What has Darcy done, after all, but fall in love with a pretty girl?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. "He has fallen in love with the wrong girl, you see. As a matter of fact, I do not even believe he is in love with Miss Lawrence."

"Then you believe it to be mere infatuation?" questioned Lady Piedmont.

Mr. Darcy nodded emphatically. "What else? Every look…every glance…every expression proves it. His letter to me was foolish and reckless-as is first love. Never before has he gone against my wishes. Thus, everything proves it is mere puppy love. Nothing more."

Lady Piedmont inclined her head slightly. "I share your sentiments. I do not believe his attachment lasting. Indeed, I already observe signs that it is fading."

"I do not understand it!" Mr. Darcy exclaimed, suddenly upset. "He has so upset my plans…my desires….my wishes!"

"How so?" Lady Piedmont asked, though she knew the reason.

Mr. Darcy sighed. "It all has to do with Lizzy," he said, after a few moments contemplation. "From the earliest hours of our acquaintance," he continued, in his harum-scarum fashion, "I singled Elizabeth Bennet out as a most remarkable girl. Within the course of a month, I discovered remarkable an unfit word to describe her. Exceptional, would you not agree?"

Lady Piedmont murmured her assent.

"Now, I have known her seven years, and I love her as dearly as a daughter," he said, with a fond smile upon his lips, "and my greatest wish has long been to see her married to my son. They were made for one another, Lady Piedmont. It is so very evident!"

Lady Piedmont nodded emphatically. "My sentiments exactly, sir! I have known them both only a short time, yet they have both become very good friends to me…and I have watched them together. I sometimes wonder how Darcy can be so blind! The way Lizzy looks at him…"

"So you believe she has come to the realization that she loves him?" Mr. Darcy asked. "I suspected such when she called upon me at Netherfield. I have never seen her so altered in look or manner. Yes, she is as feisty and opinionated as ever, but she is very much subdued now."

"She wants nothing more than his respect and attention," Lady Piedmont said. "I have noticed that much. Before, I believe she took such things for granted. Now, she has Amelia Lawrence to contend with."

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "I realize my actions were rash, but, you must understand, I cannot allow my son to make such a disastrous mistake!"

"Surely, I can. But I think you must allow him to choose whom he loves. Eventually, he will realize the transience of his feelings for Amelia."

"But what if it is too late? What if he _marries_ her?"

Lady Piedmont shook her head. "I doubt she will go through the marriage without a secure income. Although disinheriting him was a strong action, indeed, I do believe it was wise."

"I am glad to have your approval," Mr. Darcy replied. He would have said something further, but Mrs. Long intruded, begging a word with her ladyship.

Thus, Mr. Darcy was once more left alone to contemplate the mess of affairs he and his son had become embroiled in.

* * *

Elizabeth had danced three times with Darcy, a scandalous number! She had no cares for that, however, as she had never enjoyed a ball so much! They had talked and laughed and been as open and free with one another as old times, and she rejoiced in his resurgence of spirits. Indeed, the invisible barrier that had so long separated them seemed torn down. It was as though his engagement to Amelia Lawrence was nothing but a dream. Her name had not been mentioned, and Darcy seemed scarcely aware of her existence. Instead, he paid every attention and courtesy to Elizabeth, teasing and laughing at her as he always did…but now with something of respect. She was no longer a child in his eyes; she was happy to realize she had earned something of his esteem. 

Her coterie of admirers, however, would no longer tolerate such selfishness on Darcy's part. The Beauty was to be shared; she was not to squander the evening away in the company of _one_ man. Rupert, at the forefront of this group, ostensibly replaced Darcy, by some skillful maneuvering involving Clara Long, whom he forced upon Darcy. Once he had been disposed, he stole Elizabeth away.

She was made to sit beside him in a window box, where he forced her to participate in conversation. They were locked in a stalemate-_he_ being determined to make her fall in love with him in the time span of five minutes (which was to be, he foresaw, his allotted time with her) and _she_ determined to escape to find Darcy.) The conversation fell to a monologue, as her answers were clipped and strained as to be monosyllables.

"I believe we have a mutual friend," he said, after three minutes conversation attempting to find something they had in common. Elizabeth, however, obstinate as ever, had only contradicted every answer.

"I do not know who you could mean," Elizabeth replied coldly.

"Why, George Wickham, of course!" Rupert replied in his charming tone, with his charming smile.

"George Wickham is no friend of mine," Elizabeth snapped, removing her hand, which Rupert had taken, from his viselike grip. "He has caused Mr. Darcy a great deal of vexation and is quite worthless, besides. I never liked him, though he was, for some time, a member of my band."

Rallied by such a length reply, Rupert said, "Oh! What a very droll girl you are, Miss Bennet! To suggest George Wickham, my dear schoolmate, is a worthless fellow! Very droll, indeed!" He laughed his charming laugh, which succeeded only in aggravating his companion. She wished, at that moment, she could bash all of the charmingness out of him and escape into the waiting arms of Darcy, who was simultaneously glowering at Rupert and dancing with Clara from across the room.

"I did not intend it as a joke," she replied, "but you are free to laugh, if you like."

Rupert's eyes narrowed, but he continued laughing, either out of necessity or inclination.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, having spotted Jane, excused herself before Rupert could make himself any more charming. Managing to disentangle herself from the window-box, she made her way stealthily across the room, hoping her hoard of admirers was to preoccupied to give chase.

"Oh, Jane!" she cried, practically throwing herself upon her sister. "You must take me and hide me somewhere…far, far away."

Jane patted her back comfortingly and guided her towards an out-of-the-way corner of the room. "Ah…but you too beautiful this evening, my dear! You have brought this upon yourself."

"_You_ are the beautiful one!" Elizabeth pointed out. "I am nothing in comparison!"

But Jane would not hear such abuse and violently protested. They sat down upon a bench, and Jane held her wearied sister to her chest, stroking her hair, which was mussed from rounds of dancing. "I shall keep you safe until your admirers cease their pursuit," she said.

"I hope they have lost the scent!" Lizzy said.

Jane laughed. "I believe they have. We are quite safe here."

Elizabeth could only thank her sister for her protection and nestle closer against her. "I am glad to have you, Jane. This evening has been so wonderful…yet so overwhelming."

Jane understood and sympathized, and no other words were needed. They sat in silence for a time, until, at length, two voices could be distinguished. Directly behind them, on the balcony, two figures stood, quite close together. They had not perceived the two sisters…though Elizabeth and Jane had most definitely perceived _them_.

"He is so _**very**_ cruel!" came the unmistakable tones of Amelia Lawrence. "To believe how he abused me! Oh! It is too much."

"There, there." Elizabeth instantly distinguished the voice of Rupert Pettigrew. Not minutes before, she had been tortured by it. "You must not pay any heed to what he says. He is an old man and knows nothing. What right has he, after all, to insult such a beautiful young lady as yourself?"

Amelia sniffled. "You are too kind, sir."

"No. You are too kind. To allow me the pleasure of your acquaintance these delightful three weeks. I can scarce believe my luck!"

Amelia's sniffles turned to giggles. "Indeed, Mr. Pettigrew! How forward! Think of my betrothed!"

"I meant no harm by it," he replied. "Trust me, I am the first man aware of your engagement. It never ceases to plague me!"

"For shame!"

"You need not worry, though," Rupert murmured. "Have you not that delightful fortune from your mother to rely upon?"

Elizabeth stifled laughter. As if Amelia Lawrence had any fortune to rely upon. She had obviously been spinning lies.

"Yes. Though it is not nearly as handsome as the fortune _you_ shall inherit from your dear guardian," Amelia answered coyly.

Again, Elizabeth was forced to stifle laughter. From Lady Piedmont's account, Sir Arnold had not two dimes to rub together.

"Yes," Rupert answered, "how kind of you to remember."

"You shall be very happy," Amelia said, "no matter who you choose to wed."

"As will you," Rupert answered. He moved closer to Amelia, and Elizabeth observed his hand steal about her waist. Anger began to boil within her; how dare Amelia allow such! Had she no thought for Darcy…or, for that matter, what any innocent observer might think?

Jane was attempting to pull her away, but she refused to budge. No matter what the cost, she would hear these two liars out!

"I only wish…" Amelia began tentatively.

"Yes?" Rupert encouraged.

"That I should have met you before my engagement!" she blurted.

"Indeed," Rupert said, "if _only_." He sighed melodramatically, and his grip about Amelia's waist tightened.

"For these past three weeks have been the happiest of my life!" she exclaimed. "Though we have been forced to meet in secret."

"Indeed. You are everything to me, Miss Lawrence. I only wish we were not so confined…"

"But I cannot break my engagement with Mr. Darcy!" Amelia cried, "not after what has happened. Everyone shall think me a heartless mercenary!"

"Not when they know you are an heiress!" Rupert chided gently.

Amelia did not answer immediately. When she did, she faltered slightly. "It is a secret inheritance, you must understand. Before my mother died, she begged me tell no one; it was to be kept from my father, who is a merciless and cruel man. I shall not inherit until my twenty-first birthday. So no one can know…yet."

"You poor child!" Rupert exclaimed. "How robbed you have been of happiness! And now to be engaged to that great brute of a man! I tremble to think of it!"

Elizabeth balled her hands into fists at this statement. As though Darcy were a great brute!

"It is much to bear, I know," Amelia returned, not bothering to counteract such a statement, "and I thought I was to be rewarded by becoming mistress of Pemberley! Alas! Now such hopes have been cruelly snatched. I have nothing now…save my own fortune," she added quickly.

"Which is great," Rupert was desirous of confirmation.

"Oh yes!" she reassured him. "Great, indeed, or it should not be kept a secret!"

"But you shall not break your engagement?" he inquired.

"No," she replied, "I cannot. Alas! Our great love is hopeless."

"Do not utter such!" he cried. "I cannot bear to hear it! We shall think of something yet! There must be someway to overcome the circumstances."

There were more steps on the balcony, and Amelia and Rupert jumped apart as some stray admirers inquired as to Elizabeth's location.

"I have not the faintest idea," Rupert replied, as Elizabeth burrowed her head against her sister's shoulder, hoping, if they should cross her path, they should think her some distraught maiden, sobbing over her lack of comparison to the Beauty. The admirers promptly dispersed to separate parts of the ballroom-none, thankfully, in Lizzy's direction.

Rupert and Amelia, bravery diminished by such an intrusion, remained a safe distance apart.

"Our meeting was by chance," Amelia said, "and yet, the first day I met you at the milliner's, I knew our love was destined."

"I feel the same way," Rupert agreed, "Destiny has drawn us together. Nothing can separate us, dearest Amelia. Nothing!"

Elizabeth made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, and Jane's eyes widened. She keenly felt the distraught of eavesdropping, which did not appear to bother her sister in the slightest.

"I have stayed away too long," Amelia said, albeit reluctantly. "I shall be missed."

"Must we part then?" Rupert asked.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," Amelia added, as though seized by a sudden Shakespearean turn.

"Indeed," Rupert assented, "what a beautiful line. Did you make that up off the top of your head?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes. I am known as quite a poet."

Rupert smiled. "As am I. Farewell, my dearest. Until we meet again…"

Amelia took his hand. "I shall look forward to the very hour."

That was all Elizabeth was allowed to hear. Jane, grappling with her scruples, finally overcame her sister's resistance and whisked her back into the ballroom.

"We should not have heard that!" Jane cried. "It was very wrong of us."

"It was very wrong of _me_," Lizzy corrected, "you did nothing. I was the one who forced you to stay. Do not keep it upon your conscience. Besides, what was wrong in it?"

"It was a private conversation," Jane hissed.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I am glad that I heard her. It just confirms my beliefs. Darcy shall know the truth!"

"Lizzy," Jane said, her face worried. "Do you not think you are rather hasty?"

"Jane!" Lizzy exclaimed. "She is _betraying_ him. How can I not take action? Does he not deserve the right to know the true character of his betrothed?"

Jane shook her head. "How shall you explain it? What if he does not believe you?" She looked down at her hands, avoiding Elizabeth's gaze. "He _loves_ her, Lizzy. This will devastate him."

"I know, Jane," Lizzy replied, taking her sister's hands, "and, until this point, I had determined to breathe no word against her. But how can I stand by now and allow her to…to…"

Jane shook her head again. "I cannot advise you. I would _not_ advise you, for I would surely advise you wrongly. But take care, Lizzy. Matters of the heart are very different from matters you have been accustomed to dealing with."

Elizabeth nodded, squeezing her sister's hands gently. "I must find him now. I must see him. Then, I shall know whether to tell him or not. But, Jane, he needs to know. Surely you can agree with that?"

Jane nodded. "Indeed. But tread carefully, Lizzy. Do not endanger your friendship. Be gentle, if you must tell him. Try to understand."

"I do," Lizzy murmured to herself, taking leave of her sister. "More than anyone can imagine."

Where was he to be found? Elizabeth scanned the ballroom, searching for his face, as familiar to her as her own. There was no need to search, however, for he found her.

"Where have you been?" he asked, coming to her side and surprising her.

"Hiding," she replied, with a small smile.

"Shall we shock the room and dance a fourth?" he asked.

Lizzy just starred up at him. He was at once familiar and unfathomable; so close yet so far. How could she tell him? Had she not promised to respect his decision? His love for Amelia was, as far as she could see, steady and unwavering. To shake its foundations would be too cruel-would cut him too deeply. She could not bear to see him unhappy. "I do no think I care to dance anymore," she said simply.

"Well, what shall we do then?" he asked.

She had no time to make any suggestions, however, for they were interrupted by the arrival of a small, wiry man with a crop of gray hair. He was not dressed for a ball; indeed, he was muddied and travel-worn. Nor was he a member of Elizabeth's admirers; he was entirely too wrinkled and aged for _that_.

"I am fortunate to find you together," he said softly. "I have been searching well-night a quarter-of-an-hour for you both."

"Searching for _us_?" they inquired together.

He nodded. "Urgent business. You must come with me now."

They exchanged confused glances.

"No time for questions," he said, "you must come now. I did not sneak into a ballroom for fun, after all. Please…trust me. Someone's life hangs in the balance."

Darcy, slightly wary, was not allowed to voice his suspicions; eager to escape the ballroom, Rupert, Amelia, and her admirers, Lizzy was already off…following the little man. He had no choice; he could certainly not allow her to go alone.

Something _very_ strange was afoot that evening.

* * *

I know it was fast paced...but I couldn't resist the drama: ) Amelia's true character shined. I have only three words for her: whey-faced hussy! Sorry for the cliffhanger, by the way. I just thought it would be a really good way to end the chapter. Chapter 15 coming up!!! 


	16. The Authoress Makes Her Excuses

Hey, guys

Hey, guys.

Wow. I really shouldn't have the audacity to be typing to you…after, well, a shamefully prolonged period…I also should not be posting this to get your hopes up. But I wanted reassure you that this story is not forgotten…its just on temporary hiatus.

I feel I owe you an explanation. Right now, I am juggling a terrible, TERRIBLE year in chemistry (which is thankfully drawing to a close…but with the most difficult workload all year…which is certainly saying something), an English term paper on the dualism in Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment (I wanted Dickens…but, of course, I get saddled with the mad Russian…no offense, Dostoevsky…no offense…by the way, if anyone wants to help me with the paper, I would love tips, etc. Literary critics to read, personal input, anything!!), AP English and AP US history test loom, the ACT and SAT must be studied for, I have to teach myself Latin before next August, I missed about a week of school and, therefore, have billions of make-up assignments I must complete, I have to find a summer job, and I must keep the grades up or else face a life shackled to a college I do not wish to attend. There. I'm done ranting and excusing my horrid self. Self-pity is in art in which I often dabble.

So, to summarize, I will be continuing MBD (as a matter of fact, I have several ideas). I'm already a good deal through it…and, trust me, something MAJOR will occur _soon_ that will irrevocably change everything. But I think it will be a couple more weeks until I can get anything posted. I don't mean to complain. I do everyone is facing similar, if not worse, dilemmas. So don't give up on me! I will spend my summer typing! Ah! To finally be able to do something I enjoy again!

I'm sorry if this is a disappointment…it's certainly not an update, just an excuse. But I feel I owe everyone some form of explanation for my long absence. I do hope everyone is still interested in this story. I've always had so much fun writing it.

Anyway, I'll spare you any more excuses.

_Lady Susan_

P.S. I wish I had a better reason to excuse myself. Being captured by pirates or locked in a medieval dungeon beats homework any day! : )


	17. Evening Escapade

The path they took was very dark

The path they took was very dark. Even Elizabeth, who knew the woods and forests of Hertfordshire as well as she knew her own name, had difficulty in making out where they were going. She clutched Darcy's hand for comfort, though she was more excited than frightened. No thought as to the rumors that would most assuredly run rampant after their hasty departure ran through her mind-she was all anticipation.

The little man walked with a curious, lopsided gait and picked his way along the path gingerly. He, however, seemed in perfect possession of a sense of direction and faltered not an inch. Nor did he address either Elizabeth or Darcy; he did not seem inclined to conversation and, as no questions had been asked, he saw fit to remain silent. When at last they arrived at their destination, which, from what Lizzy could see, was a small field surrounded on three sides by forest, he stopped abruptly and turned to them.

"I'd best introduce myself before we move on," he said.

Elizabeth and Darcy waited patiently.

The little man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I didn't think you recognize me, Miss Lizzy. You were very young when we last met."

"We've met?" she asked, surprised. "I am sure we have not, for I would remember you if we had."

He laughed. "Indeed? We _have_ met. You were two at the time. From what I remember, it was not a pleasant occasion."

This tantalizing piece of information left Elizabeth on pins and needles. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The little man's smile widened. "Joe Lawrence, my dear, at your service."

"Joe Lawrence!" Lizzy cried. "Why, that makes you Amelia's good-for-nothing father!" The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think. With a small cry, she held her hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh…that was very wrong of me to say. I did not mean it."

Joe laughed. "Do not imagine I will take offense. I _am_ good-for-nothing…and, unfortunately, Amelia's father."

"Unfortunately?" Darcy asked, taking umbrage. "Whatever could you mean by that, sir?"

Joe shrugged. "I think we'd best leave it at that. No more time can be wasted." He turned away and began to walk again. "I will explain later." They made their way a short distance to a long, weathered log, which had been severed from a tree in a bad lightning storm.

Head pillowed upon this log and face contorted with pain, Sir Teddy lay, very quietly. He was deathly pale, even in the moonlight, and his wound, which had been heavily bandaged several times over, was bleeding profusely.

"I found this gentleman left for the vultures on the side of the road," Joe said, standing over him. "He told me to bring him here and fetch you. Thought it would be best to send for a doctor, but he protested. Said you would be able to help him."

"Sir Teddy!" Elizabeth breathed. She was at his side in an instant. "Sir Teddy!" she cried again.

He did not respond to her greetings, being, unfortunately, unconscious.

"We must get him to the ship," Darcy said. "He will be safe there."

"The ship?" Joe looked confused.

"Do not mind it now, Joe," Lizzy said, "you will soon understand." She turned her attention to Darcy. "Do you think he can be got there safely? Should we carry him?"

Darcy nodded. "You and I will. Mr. Lawrence must go and fetch a doctor. It will be less conspicuous that way."

Lizzy agreed. "I believe Dr. Cole is at the ball now." She made several motions in the air, describing the doctor in detail to her newfound uncle.

He took mental notes and was gone.

Sir Teddy, however weak and wizened, was still difficult to lift. With much effort, Lizzy and Darcy managed to support him. The walk to the ship was torturous and took twice as long, but they managed, supporting his small, wizened form between them.

When at last they had deposited him on one of the beds in the ship, they began immediately speaking, words rushing tumultuously between them.

"What should we do…"

"Wouldn't it be wiser to wait for Dr. Cole?"

"We can't wait anymore..."

"I'll get a basin of water and some towels…"

"I'll see if I can find some cloth. Do you think sail-cloth would do?"

"Is there any brandy hidden around?"

Fortunately, they understood each other well enough to make out the jumble of sentences and words. At once, they were off in different directions-Darcy to find brandy, Lizzy to cut sail-cloth. Activity and motion were always preferable to waiting.

The evening was very still, and only Sir Teddy's labored breathing could be distinguished. His dry, raspy coughs split the tranquility of the night and made Lizzy's heart quicken with anxiety. She wanted desperately to fetch Lady Piedmont to his side but drawing her away from her own ball would be entirely too conspicuous-she was sure she and Darcy were enough missed already. There could be no more talk, especially not with the devious Arnold around. It was too much of a risk to Sir Teddy's safety.

At last, Dr. Cole arrived. He looked vaguely irritated at being so hastily removed from the ball (invitations were, after all, not easy to come by for those in the medical profession) and the refreshment table had been particularly welcoming. When he saw Lizzy, he sighed.

"I should have known _you_ would have a hand in it, miss."

"Oh, now is no time to be provoking, Dr. Cole," Lizzy replied, her face pale. "I do not feel in the mood…"

There was something about her manner that alarmed the doctor. He approached her quickly and took her by the arm. "What is it?" he asked, shaking her. "Something really is the matter. I did not know. It was strange enough when _he_ forced me away." He jabbed his thumb at Joe, scuffing his boots together by the entranceway. "What is it, my child? You needn't fear my remarks anymore."

Darcy entered, holding a half-empty brandy bottle. His eyes, focused upon Lizzy, were chastising.

"Lizzy…what did I tell you…" he broke off upon seeing Dr. Cole. "Hello, sir. You're just in time."

"You are sworn to secrecy," Elizabeth said, pulling him into the small room where Sir Teddy was lying, "you will tell _no one_. A life hangs upon your promise."

Mystified, Dr. Cole followed.

"Do you promise to tell _no one_?" she asked, stopping him before the cloth that served as a doorway into the next room. It was a demand. Dr. Cole could find no way around it.

At last, albeit reluctantly, he assented and promised.

They moved into the room, Lizzy leading. It was dim and feebly lit, a single candle on a rickety table serving as the only illumination. Dr. Cole had to wait for his eyes adjust to the darkness before he could make out Sir Teddy. He approached and gazed down upon the pale, shriveled form, the blood-coated sheets, and the bullet wound.

"Oh, dear," he murmured. "Oh, Lizzy. What have you gotten yourself into now?"

She did not answer him, only stood, waiting. Darcy hung back, watching from the doorway. Joe had commandeered the brandy bottle and was nursing himself with liberal helpings, swinging his legs off the ship and making himself scarce. As much as he hated to admit it, Joe could not stand the sight or smell of blood. Doctors frightened him. The entire way to the ship, he had maintained a scrupulous distance from Cole, as if the poor, neat, elderly gentleman might suddenly attack him with a scalpel.

Within the 'sickroom', Lizzy paced anxiously while Dr. Cole made his examination. She had fetched more candles and now the room was bright with shadows. Her own shadow figured prominently on the wall, a tall, narrow, girlish figure in constant motion.

Darcy had managed to find a basin, towels, and some clean white cloth for bandages. These essentials were piled on the rickety table; it threatened to turn over from their weight. On the bed, Sir Teddy lay, still unconscious, still breathing heavily.

"I wish I had my bag," Dr. Cole muttered. "I can only do so much without it."

Lizzy jumped to attention. "Let me go get it," she said, glad for the opportunity to make herself useful. "I've broken into your house lots of times-I certainly can do it for legitimate reasons."

Dr. Cole shook his head. "No need for that. I'll give you a key." He fetched it from his pocket and handed it to her. "It's on my bedside table. Make haste."

"I'll go with her," Darcy said. "It's dark, Lizzy. You can't go alone."

She shrugged. "I've been alone countless times in the dark, but, if you can keep up with me, you can come."

A smile spread across his face. "Oh. I'll have no trouble whatsoever with _that_."

She was too anxious to make it a competition and only shook her head slightly. Then, she was off, flying through the darkness, Darcy at her side. Dr. Cole's house was on the outskirts of Meryton, about two and a half miles from the ship. They were there within a quarter of an hour, Lizzy barely catching her breath before unlocking the door. The interior of the house was familiar-she often filched the lock and entered to make mischief. Tonight, however, she had a more serious purpose.

She found the bag easily, and they were off again, the cool night wind blowing in their faces.

When they returned, Joe was still swinging his legs from the ship, still nursing the brandy bottle. His face was ruddy, and he was quietly humming a drinking song.

"I'll take that, if you please," Darcy said, snatching it from his hands.

"I think you've had quite enough," Lizzy added, in answer to his protestations.

They walked into the ship and found Dr. Cole washing his hands in the basin. He did not look as grim as before. Sir Teddy was still pale and lifeless but his breathing had fallen into a regular pattern and was easier, less troubled.

"I've stopped the blood," he said, "and now only need to remove the bullet. Once that is done, I can bandage the wound."

Lizzy inhaled sharply and made a face. The smell of blood was resinous and acrid. It hung throughout the room.

"He is going to be alright, then?"

Dr. Cole nodded. "He has lost a great deal of blood, but I believe he will mend."

Lizzy caught him up in an embrace. Her smile was jubilant. "Thank you, Dr. Cole. Oh, thank you. I will promise to try very, _very_ hard never to steal from you again."

Dr. Cole laughed. "Now run along and let me attend to my patient." She refused to budge, however. Nothing would satisfy her but to hand him all his tools and hang over the bedside, her lips still tight and tense with worry. Darcy removed to the exterior of the ship, taking a seat beside Joe. He would only be in the way, otherwise. Lizzy had enough capability.

"What's your name, boy?" Joe asked. He was only slightly drunk. His head drooped forward, his forehead resting against the smooth railing of the ship. His words were slightly slurred.

"Darcy," was the answer.

"Ah," Joe said knowingly. "Well, this is mighty convenient."

"How so, sir?"

"Well, you're the young man that's to marry my Amelia, ain't you?"

Darcy nodded. "Yes. And what business of that is yours?" He was cold; he could not help it under the circumstances.

"I've a father's right," returned Joe placidly, "she's my only daughter."

"Perhaps in name you are her father. From what she has told me, you have no more right than that." Amelia had, in fact, said little of her father or his origins, preferring not to dwell on such matters of family. What she _had_ said of Joe Lawrence had not been very flattering; Darcy had gleaned the general idea that her father was a relentless drunk, a good-for-nothing leech who lived upon his daughter's own humble earnings.

"You shouldn't trust Amelia's account of me. She's not likely to be very fair. She has all the right in the world to preach against me, but I'm never as bad or ugly as she paints me."

Darcy said nothing in reply, only starred coolly off into the darkness.

"You seem a nice, steady sort of man. A trifle arrogant. But, overall, I like you," Joe said abruptly. "I like that little slip of a thing inside, too. Now there's a girl with some spunk." His eyes rested upon the entranceway to the ship. "That being said, I think I should tell you the truth about my daughter. Not that I don't want her to marry you. From what I've been told, you're as rich as Midas and handsomer, besides. It's nice to confirm that. I've always wanted beautiful grandchildren."

"Please get to the point, sir. I will hear you out, but I do not promise to believe you."

"Well, Amelia's always been scheming. Manipulative, I guess you could say. I married her mother, Sophronia Bennet. Nice girl. Silly, like her other sisters. But very, very pretty. The first year of our marriage was bliss. The other nine were hell. Remember that," he said, brandishing his finger in Darcy's face.

"Anyway, Sophy had a taste for the high life and I had a taste for drink. Between us, we couldn't help but fall into ruin. Like a pair of babes in woods with money. And I've never been a man for much work. When Amelia was born, we were not in the least bit certain how we could afford to keep her. As she grew up, Sophy put it into her head that _I_ was the cause of our poverty, and Amelia always detested me for it. I don't believe a daughter has ever hated a father so much as Amelia Lawrence hates _me_." His tone was cavalier, indifferent, but his voice warbled slightly as he finished the sentence. "I deserve her scorn. I did nothing to further her. But she was always an ungrateful girl. Pettish, complaining, coquettish, and undeniably selfish. Sophy got it into her head to marry well. Those two were plotting and scheming for a rich husband before Amelia was out of the cradle. She inherited her mother's taste for grandeur, too. She was going to go in for grandeur. I believe she found it." He cast a sympathetic smile upon Darcy. It was not visible in the dark.

Darcy shook his head. "You're wrong. You give your daughter too little credit."

"I think I know her better," Joe said. "I think that _you_ should get to know her better. At least before you allow her to push you to the altar. She's a very determined girl, Mr. Darcy."

"What if I told you that my father had disinherited me because of my engagement and cast me aside…and that Amelia remained steadfast to her engagement? Would that not contradict everything you have said?"

Joe shrugged and scratched his head. "I suppose it would. But Amelia always has something up her sleeve. I wouldn't doubt her resourcefulness."

"May I ask," Darcy said abruptly, "why you came to Hertfordshire? To warn me of your daughter's mercenary intentions or to profit from her engagement?"

"Would I intentionally warn you about Amelia if I wanted to _profit_?" Joe asked. "I highly doubt informing you of the deformities of the stock would encourage your purchasing it. An honest way, certainly, but not a lucrative one."

"I'm sorry," Darcy said coldly, "but I have no desire to compare by betrothed to cattle." There was a catch to his voice. "I think you've said enough, sir." He stood.

Joe squinted up at him through the gloom. "I hope you'll at least take what I said into consideration. It's not out of any sense of malice or anger that I say what I say about Amelia. I believe she's a good girl at heart, but she's got too much artificiality about her…too much greed. That girl is power hungry, I tell you. She thirsts for money; she craves it. I don't want you to end up as I did…married to a pretty face and miserable. Don't let her deceive you, young man. _Look_. All I ask for you to do is _examine_."

Darcy did not acknowledge this statement, although he heard it. He strode down the ladder of the ship and walked toward the bank of Browning Pond.

In the distance, the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was approaching.


	18. Mornings Will Be Kind

**A/N: **Happy Valentine's Day! I've charted out the rest of the story and WILL finish before the spring semester is over. It's one of my goals before I graduate. No worries! To all my loyal readers, I appreciate your patience and perseverance before

I know it seems sometimes (okay all the time) that hope is lost…but take heart! My plotting is CHARTED, for heaven's sake. All organized and everything. I have devoted an entire blue, spiral-bound notebook to the end of this story. And there will be a third to follow up! I really like what's going to happen. I hope everyone else does too! Not to give too much away…but Darcy and Lizzy are going to experience a rift…but Amelia will get her just desserts, as will a number of other characters.

Enough of my rambling. Here's chapter 18!

The title of this chapter is a Midlake song. Great band, by the way.

* * *

Chapter 18

Mornings Will Be Kind

"He will mend," was Dr. Cole's final prognosis, delivered as he rinsed his hands once more in the basin filled with pond water, stained a pale red with Sir Teddy's blood, "but he must rest."

Elizabeth exhaled with relief and wiped her brow. It had been a long night. Sir Teddy had been saved, however. The bullet had been removed and the bleeding stopped.

The night had exacted it's toll, however. Though she would never own to it, she was tired. Every bone in her body throbbed with fatigue.

"He is a very lucky man," Cole continued, drying his hands on the sail-cloth Lizzy had provided, "and very determined to remain alive. Someone ought to stay and look after him…not you, miss," he said, upon observing her brightened expression, "that will never do at all! You've caused enough stir, I'm sure, with your unceremonious exit from the ball last night. You must get home before your parents miss you."

"I'll ensure she gets home," said Darcy, entering the room, "in the meantime, Joe will look after our patient."

"Good," said Dr. Cole, "appearances must be kept. Only keep that man away from the bottle! A drunk is no good as a nurse!" He grimaced through the open door at the aforementioned. "I'll come round tomorrow."

Darcy and Lizzy offered their thanks, and Lizzy saw the doctor to the door.

"You were very good to come, Dr. Cole," she said, handing him his bag, "and I am fully prepared to forgive you for all your previous transgressions."

"Such as?"

"That horrid medicine you made me take when I was ill last year, among other things."

"How very generous of you," he remarked dryly.

"Well, take care," she said, opening the door, "and thank you, again."

"You take care too, miss," replied the good-natured doctor, "and come and fetch me if you ever need me…the proper way, if you please."

"If you expect me to knock," Lizzy returned, "then you are sadly deluded."

She returned to the sick-room, to find Darcy waiting. "I think it's time I took you home, Lizzy," he said quietly. "Everyone at Longbourn will be worried."

"I don't want to go home," she replied stubbornly. "Sir Teddy needs me."

"I'll come back and stay with him throughout the morning, and Joe can look after him this afternoon. You can slip away from Longbourn later…but you must go back now."

"But what if he wakes? There are so many questions I have to ask him!"

"In good time," Darcy replied, "but you can't expect to bombard him the minute he reaches consciousness."

He took her arm; she could not wrest herself free and, observing the determined set of his chin, decided to comply with his wishes. They met Joe on the deck; Lizzy noted the coldness of Darcy's tone when he greeted him.

"Look after Sir Theodore while I am away. Take care if he awakes."

"Good-bye, Joe," Lizzy cried behind her shoulder as she was led away, "I'll be back soon, and you can tell me everything."

"He most certainly cannot," Darcy mumbled to himself. He descended the steps first, then caught Lizzy.

"I am perfectly capable of…"

"I know you are," he said.

They walked part of the way in silence, Darcy's face contemplative and pensive; Elizabeth's bright with her joy in the beauty of the morning. She had not yet noticed his altered state of mind; she was entirely too caught up with Sir Teddy and his chances for recovery. Secretly, she was still flushed from the ball, from Darcy's eyes, from…oh!

_I must cease to be so silly…such a foolish ninny! _Lizzy chastised herself. _I am making too much of nothing…_

The pastoral landscape was bathed in gold; down the familiar hills rolled streams of light, everything sparkling and beautiful, otherworldly in the rays of the young sun. The sun, spilling over into the great bowl of the sky, the cold, hard stars fading, nothing but the morning and the birds heralding its arrival…nothing but two solitary figures walking quietly down a dusty path.

Elizabeth gradually awoke to her companion's presence, wishing to share her delight in the morning with someone who could appreciate it as she did. Turning to him, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. It was all she needed to do; he understood.

For the first time, Elizabeth truly _looked_ at Darcy. That is to say, in the brilliance of the rising sun, she saw him for what he truly was. With the sun upon his shoulders, the halo of light about his tousled curls, he was indescribably wondrous. Sculpted and smooth as marble he walked beside her, a Greek statue come to life. His mahogany curls glinted and reflected the light, his grey-green eyes, his finely-chiseled features, all so perfect!

Darcy's looks had never intimidated Lizzy-she had never considered them before, only accepted them for what they were, dismissed them rather. They were not the true Darcy, merely an outer shell like the skin of an onion. But now, standing beside him in the golden morning, the full weight of her own physical insignificance fell upon her. He was the sun and she the moon-she simply paled in comparison.

But Darcy was not thinking this. When he felt the cold hand slip into his own, all thoughts of Joe Lawrence and his daughter had vanished. He turned to face his radiant companion and did not think her insignificant at all.

Lizzy was not beautiful. But some inner warmth made her glow, there was a genuine sweetness to her features, the full smile, those twinkling azure eyes, from which the very sky was attempting to copy. No. She was not beautiful. But she was striking, different, yet endearing in her familiarity. The flow of her voice, like the babble of a stream was intoxicating. She was silent now, and he wished she would speak! To hear her voice…how much he took for granted!

He could not remember why he was upset-was not, in fact, thinking of anything other than how wonderful it felt to hold her to him, what a part of him she felt, how right this feeling was, how natural!

And Lizzy was pressing closer and closer, slowing her pace, anxious to prolong the dawn…anxious not to return to cold, grey reality…only desiring to remain forever ensconced in light and happiness…and Darcy's arms.

She burrowed closer and put her head upon his shoulder. At last, the words came.

"I wish we could run very far away," she said, "with Sir Teddy, perhaps, and Lady Piedmont. What a lot of good adventures we would have."

She could hear Darcy's smile in his voice. "I'm not sure your mother would approve of that."

"Oh, she'll approve. As long as I keep in the company on the gentry. A baronet can get away with highway robbery, in her mind, so long as he has 'sir' in front of his name. A family crest grants immunity from the law, after all."

They came to a dip in the road, and Lizzy held out her hand. "Can we stop a moment, please?" she asked. Nearby, a patch of wildflowers bloomed, dewed with diamonds. "Only a moment," she repeated, watching irritation creep across Darcy's face. "Nothing fishy, I promise. I only want to pick some flowers."

Indulging her, he released her arm and allowed her to skim lightly over the ground to the patch and immerse herself with armfuls of buds. "Only one moment more," she promised, throwing herself upon the ground. Beside her, she placed her piles of flowers. With quick, deft fingers, she gathered a few stems and fashioned two crowns. Pleased with her work, she leapt forward and slipped one of the circlets about Darcy's tangled curls.

"Lizzy…" he complained, although some of the darkness faded from his face, "what madness is this?"

"It is a beautiful morning!" she sang, "and Sir Teddy is going to be well! And we are bringing in the dawn to Hertfordshire!" She was intoxicated with happiness, and her face glowed in the soft sunrise.

Her laughter was contagious; there was no end to the change she could bring about in Darcy, no matter his mood. With the circlet drooping comically over his ear, he linked arms with her. She was still supporting the voluminous bouquet.

"These are for you," she said, pushing her beautiful burden into his arms.

He laughed. "Is it not supposed to be the other way around"

"Oh, do _try_ to enjoy them. If it makes you feel any better, pretend to be a beautiful maiden."

"That certainly helps matters," was the reply.

"Only think what a glorious morning, Darcy," she said, gripping his arm tighter. "Everything is _right_ on such a morning. Can't you feel it? The rightness?"

He nodded. She yawned. "Oh. I can't help it. I've been trying to avoid being tired all night." She put her head upon his shoulder. "I shall probably go home and fall asleep at the breakfast table, with my head in the eggs. Only think what Mama will say…"

"She will be most seriously displeased," Darcy replied. He liked the feeling. He placed his arm about her waist and pulled her to him. Her eyes closed. "I am going to fall asleep standing up, and here, all these years, I thought it never could be done!"

"Do you want me to carry you, Lizzy?" he asked.

"Oh no…" she yawned… "much too old for that…mustn't…too…heavy…"

He laughed. "You're no burden at all, you will-o-wisp. And what's this about being too old?"

"So very, very right," she murmured. "I wish we could walk in the dawn forever."

"That's it!" he cried, swinging her up. She laughed but was too tired to protest. She was lithe as a fairy, and he had no trouble whatsoever, cradling her close.

"Only think…" she said slowly, placing her head in the valley between his chin and shoulder.

He waited patiently for her to complete the thought.

"Only think…" she said again, her voice trailing, tapering, almost unwilling. Her eyes remained wide, though her lids were leaden. "Oh! Can we not go on forever and ever like this?" she finally managed. "Such a morning makes one feel so…_alive_. So very, very alive!"

He did not speak; no answer was required.

She fell into silence. There was nothing that could be said. To say what she wished to say…that would ruin everything. Such words would tear the beautiful morning to shreds, and she had no desire to snag such a jewel of a moment in time.

Too soon they neared the Longborne Drive; too soon did they round that familiar bend toward home!

"And you'll go back and look after him," she managed between yawns. "As soon as I am able, I'll slip away."

Darcy nodded. "Don't worry."

"We need to…to…to…"

He placed a finger over her lips. "Stop. You are very tired now, and talking is useless. Go to sleep." He whispered these last words in her ear; she felt them thrill along her spine.

"You're a very good girl, Liz. And you looked beautiful last night."

The tiredness was melting away into sheer, euphoric joy now. Happiness was flooding every cell of her body. Never before had she experience such intoxication of mind and body! The morning had bewitched her!

Behind closed eyes, she could hear the crunch of gravel under Darcy's feet, the heavy creaking of the kitchen door, which Betsey had thoughtfully left unlatched.

"Are you taking me to my room?" she murmured, half-asleep.

"Yes," he whispered, "be very quiet."

She felt the shifting of the stairs reaching up into the turret. She was too tired to count the steps, too tired for any conscious thought, really. At last, she felt the warmth and familiarity of her own bed. Why did she suddenly feel so…

Darcy had taken off her shoes and tucked her feet under the blankets. His lips were on her cheek. Then he was gone.

Lizzy was gone, too, carried away by the waves of sleep to the distant shore of dreams.

* * *

So that's that...a rather mushy page in the holiday spirit. Valentine's Day. A Hallmark conspiracy! : )


	19. Medicinal Brandy Does the Trick

Hey, guys! Belated Valentine. I love you so much, I'm submitting another chapter before even two days have passed! I'm not even subjecting this one to the usual scrutiny! Enjoy, okay! And thanks so much for the reviews. They really warm the heart! Peace out!

* * *

Chapter 19

**Medicinal Brandy Does the Trick**

* * *

"We are ruined!" Mrs. Bennet announced the following morning at breakfast.

"How so?" inquired Mr. Bennet over his newspaper, with a mock expression of gravity.

Lizzy sipped her tea through clenched teeth, anticipating the coming storm.

"Our own daughter! Gone gallivanting off with her cousin's fiancé!"

"I did not 'gallivant' anywhere with Darcy," Elizabeth informed the table crossly, setting her tea down upon the table with a pronounced clatter. "But what business is it of anyone's? Spiteful old cats, spinning tales. Haven't they anything better to do with their time? They could write novels, with the amount of garbage they treasure up to tell!"

"It certainly concerns _us_, you thoughtless girl! You are to be the ruin of this family!" cried Mrs. Bennet, her bosom heaving.

"It doesn't concern anyone save me and Darcy!" Lizzy exclaimed, her color heightened by frustration.

"As Mr. Darcy's betrothed, I believe the matter _does_ concern someone else," Amelia interrupted. Her voice was cold and matched her eyes, as blue as ice.

"Then ask him," Lizzy hissed. She had gotten little enough sleep---barely two hours worth!---and was not about to be badgered for her conduct by Amelia Lawrence, of all people.

"Well I will say this," spat the delicate Miss. Lawrence, unable to control herself, "you behaved most indiscreetly last evening and your reputation shall be blackened for it."

At this, Mr. Bennet looked angry; Mrs. Bennet nodded in agreement; Kitty and Lydia burst into fits of giggles; Jane protested; and Mary inserted her usual bout of moral rubbish.

"Oh! Get off your high horse, Amelia!" Lizzy cried, more out of frustration than anger, "as if you had any right to cast stones!"

Amelia's face crimsoned slightly. "Please make your meaning clear."

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Is it not clear enough? I saw you last night on the balcony-do you know to what you refer? Is it clear enough now?"

Amelia's face flooded with color and her eyes popped. She dabbed at an invisible speck on her lip, as if to mask her sudden discomposure. "May I be excused?" she asked, after a few moments of strained silence. "No longer shall I play part in this conversation!"

She departed abruptly, holding her hands to her cheeks, as if to cool them.

Lizzy threw down her napkin and followed her, catching her up on the stairs. "I'd like a word, please."

Two angry spots of color stained Amelia's ivory complexion. She paused and turned on the stairs, clutching at the banister. "Why should I exchange words with a, with a…"

"Shame-faced hussy?" Lizzy supplied… "For the same reason that I exchange them with you."

Her voice was strong and level; she had not prepared for this but she was ready. "I have only a few things to say, and they shall be said whether you wish to hear them or not. Darcy loves you. I don't know why, but he does. And do you want to know something else, Amelia? I love him." The words were out before she could stop them-a plain, bald acknowledgement. She could not believe she had said it.

Amelia's eyes narrowed. She could not believe it, either.

"I cannot stand by and allow you to double cross him in this manner. You know to what I refer." Her eyes were burning; she would not stop the pursuance now, even as Amelia balked and cowered, unsure of how to respond. "I have been open with you and told you the truth. I have admitted that I am in love with your fiancé…but I will also swear to you that I shall in no way hinder you marriage. My first thoughts are for his happiness."

Amelia had no words with which to defend herself. She knew that she had been caught; what could she say for herself?

"What false identities you have created!" Lizzy exclaimed, laughing. "First, the innocent country maiden, poor but virtuous. Abused by her family and cast from relation to relation-a veritable princess in disguise! How quickly Darcy fell! I almost wonder at your skill!"

"You were the secret heiress next. Really, Amelia, could you not have concocted a better story? A secret inheritance?"

"He believed it," Amelia stiffly returned.

"Well, it doesn't matter now."

"Why? Do you intend to tell Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth stared at her for a very long time. "I've given it much thought," she said, at last, "but however much I wish to expose you as the selfish liar that you are…I could not bring myself to smash his rose-tinted perception of your virtues. But do not look so smug. If I catch one more syllable uttered between you and that codswallop of Rupert Pettigrew, I shall herald it to the whole of England, Darcy included."

Amelia flinched; but, by this time, she had recovered her composure.

"You must break off these sordid trysts with that arrogant peacock at once…and stop giving yourself such airs!" Lizzy said. "I really am doing Darcy a disservice by allowing him to marry a chit who loves his house more than his character…but I would not break his heart for all the world!"

Where there genuine tears in Amelia's eyes as Lizzy said this? If there were, she quickly blinked them away. She would not reveal such weakness to anyone.

Lizzy's tone softened and her eyes grew kinder. "You are not a bad person, Amelia. You are just misguided. I hope that Darcy shall reform you; that he shall open your eyes to true love. That is the best that I can hope or wish for you. I wish you would try to make him a good wife, to love him as he deserves. Could you not do that for me?"

Amelia turned on her heel. "I am under no obligation whatsoever to you, Elizabeth Bennet!"

"But now you _are_ under my control!" Lizzy called up to her, as she ascended the stairs.

* * *

Sometime after breakfast, when Mrs. Bennet was preoccupied with some frippery or another, Lizzy managed to slip through her window (she had been confined to her room for the day) and out to Browning Pond. She had agreed to meet Darcy at the boat, so that they might both check on Sir Teddy.

She departed Longborne with her mother's lamentations still ringing in her ears and hastily made her way to the little boat by the pond, where she found Joe Lawrence on the deck, nursing a bottle of medicinal brandy.

"For shame!" she cried, with a wry smile. "I believe that brandy was intended for Sir Teddy. You are an _ignoble_ character, Joe!" She slipped up beside him, perching herself on the edge of the rail.

"Shh…" he slurred, placing a dirty fingernail upon his lips. "The Capn's asleep."

"I suppose you mean Sir Teddy," Lizzy said, peeking into a circular window and observing said individual snoring. "Well, he has regained some color…on the whole, I must say he looks very much improved." She peered closer, pressing her nose against the glass. "Yes…he is snoring, by-the-by, which is a vast improvement over gasping for breath and air."

"Join me?" Joe asked, swaying slightly on the top-step. His legs were hanging over the edge of the ship. He held out the bottle. "Musn't let it go to waste, eh?"

Lizzy removed herself from the window and slid down beside hmi. "I am very grateful for you generosity, Joe, but I never drink before lunchtime."

Joe shrugged. "Not much left, anyways." He held the bottle to his lips and drained the remaining dregs. "Shouldn't have taken it, I know, but my throat was as dry as sandpaper."

Elizabeth stretched her toes and took in the morning. It was a bright, clear day, as the dawn had prophesized. "I am very glad Sir Teddy is on the mend and very relieved you are here to stay with him. I know Darcy is, too." She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "Has he stopped by this morning?"

Joe stretched his head. "Who?"

She leaned closer and enunciated each syllable. "Dar-cee. Fitz-will-e-ham Ed-e-ward."

"Can't say that he has," Joe answered. "Quite an impressive name. Wish I had one nearly as grand sounding." That being said, he uttered a loud belch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You are obviously not a morning person," Lizzy supplied, swinging her feet above the water.

"Not acceptable company for a lady," he said flatly.

"I am not a lady," she returned, "so put your conscience at ease."

There conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the young man with the grand name. He swung himself easily aboard ship, scowled furiously at the inebriated Joe, and pulled Elizabeth to her feet.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Recovering," she replied. She glanced in the window again; the snoring had ceased; the figure upon the bed was shifting ever so slightly. "I believe that he is, at this very moment, awakening."

They entered the cabin quickly, anxious to confirm Elizabeth's supposition. Sir Teddy was indeed awake. He smiled when he saw them; their familiar faces registering. They sped quickly to his side.

"I am very glad to see you both," he said, taking their hands and clasping them. "I knew you would help me." His eyes were sunken and his cheeks pale but he looked much improved from the night before.

Lizzy smiled down upon him. They stood over him for many minutes, allowing him to adjust to the light of day, the strange room in which he lay.

"I must tell you everything," he said, after fully coming to his senses. "Not a moment must be spared."

"Nor a detail," Lizzy added, hungry for information.

"We shall not press you now, sir," Darcy said, "not when you are so ill. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day next. Some time when you have better recovered your strength."

"No. Now. I have wasted enough time as it is." Determination crept into his tone; his face was set.

"It was foolish of me to return to Hertfordshire, I admit," he began, "but I received a letter…containing news of the happiest nature." His face colored with pleasure and his eyes grew soft. Lizzy took his hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm to be a father," he said.

"Well," Lizzy replied, "that _is _something. I cannot wait to meet this bold little adventurer. What tricks I will teach her!"

"So it is to be a girl then, Lizzy?" Darcy laughed. "You seem the deciding factor in genetics, then. But I doubt Lady Piedmont would approve of the kind of tricks you'd teach."

Sir Teddy smiled, but it was evident that he wished to continue, so Lizzy and Darcy respectfully grew silent. "You can understand my joy; I could not stay away. I had to see her, at whatever cost. But I was too hasty…

"A few months ago, I met a young man named Simon Oliver. He was a bright, resourceful, trustworthy sort of chap, and he was in a bind with a few creditors. I paid them, of course, and accepted him as an associate and a companion in my…line of business." Sir Teddy colored again, this time with embarrassment. He could never speak of his profession without a sense of mortified guilt. "We became very good friends, despite the difference in our ages. I believed we shared similar temperaments. He was always respectful and courteous. Curious, too. He was forever asking questions-rather like you Lizzy. He had what I believed to be an inquiring mind. I began to entrust him with more and more of my…business. On the evening that I received Lady Piedmont's letter, I foolishly allowed myself to become intoxicated. Simon was my companion in celebration. I am not sure what I said to him in that condition, but I believe I divulged everything about my history with Arnold, my presumed death, and my stolen identity. I compromised everything that we had worked so hard to achieve!"

"How could you have known?" Lizzy asked, upon seeing his anguished expression. "You trusted him implicitly. There was no crime in that."

"Do not pity me, my dear," Sir Teddy said, "it does neither of us credit."

"I left everything in his hands-I believed him to be capable and reliable. I had-foolishly-begun to think of him as a sort of surrogate son. I departed for Hertfordshire the following morning-I believe it was Monday of this week-and traveled coach until I reached London. From whence, it was coach again. We stopped repeatedly to change horses, at little taverns and inns along the way. Which is how I came to this injury," he jerked his head toward the heavily bandaged wound in his right shoulder. "_This_ is the most painful part of my tale."

"It was at _The Mermaid_---our final stop before reaching Haye-Park, you know, that little place in Meryton---and I had gone into a grove of trees to stretch my legs. I suppose he had followed me all the way from Portsmouth. I saw his face only for a few seconds, then the shot rang out, and all was lost to darkness."

"You were cruelly deceived!" cried Lizzy, upon on her knees in anger. "Wretched, wretched man! I could gouge his eyes out with a tea-spoon!"

"There is not need for that, now," said Sir Teddy, with a good-natured smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer. Let Mr. Lawrence relate his side of the tale now, my dear…"

… "before you threaten to commit any more murders with dining utensils," Darcy finished.

"There I was," Joe began, with a good-natured smile, "as drunk as a Scot, and what do you know? I stumble over a body. It was this poor fellow and what a sight he made! Left for the vultures, he was."

Sir Teddy smiled weakly at his unlikely hero.

"All's I remember him saying over and over again was your names---find them, please," he begged. "Elizabeth Bennet---Fitzwilliam Darcy. Well, I said that he needed to find a doctor, first, but he was so very insistent. And the name Bennet struck a chord-I've told you I'm your uncle. Longbourn once received me, in my gentlemanly days. So I placed him in the safest spot I could find and ran to your place. But the pretty little thing in the kitchen told me you had gone up to Haye-Park for some grand ball. Well, I couldn't stop there. So I ran up---ach! It's a pretty distance---and slipped past the footmen and found you."

"May I ask what you are doing in Hertfordshire, Joe? I thought you hailed from Surrey?"

"I hail from nowhere, miss," he said. "I'm a wanderer. But Amelia likes to pretend that I'm settled. I came to Hertfordshire because I heard rumor she was to be married to a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy---a fine gentleman. I wanted to see if such a thing could be true."

Darcy's expression was dark, but he didn't say anything. Elizabeth, noting the clenched muscle in his jaw, didn't press the matter.

"What's to be done, then?" she asked. "What do you expect Simon has done?"

"Who knows?" Sir Teddy said. "He had free access to all my funds; he knows where I keep my savings. There is nothing to be done; I am essentially powerless."

"It is an illegal business," Darcy said, "so there are no charges you can press in court without incriminating yourself."

"And I have no proof that it was Simon who shot me. He is probably back in Portsmouth now; to accuse him of such would be preposterous."

"And Arnold is at Piedmont Park as we speak!" Lizzy exclaimed, unable to refrain from capping the hopeless matter. "What on earth is to be done?"

They sat in silence a great deal of time, contemplating their routes of action. Direction was limited. There was very little they could do to act upon such injustice.

After a great deal of thought, Darcy spoke. "It would be best if Lady Piedmont did not know of your arrival in Hertfordshire. You didn't write to her of your coming, did you?"

"No. It was meant as a surprise."

"Good. You must say here until you are well again. That much is certain. Lawrence, you must stay here as well and tend to him. I would not recommend showing your face at Longbourn; I doubt you would be welcomed."

"Fanny did say she never wished to see me darken her doorstep again," Joe mused, "but I thought let bygones be bygones, it's my daughter under that roof!"

"Yes, but you have no claim whatsoever to her!" Darcy said, his face flushed with anger. "You've practically abandoned her!"

Lizzy took his arm. "Now is not the time," she whispered.

They talked over the matter a few hours more, evaluating each and every option open to pursuance. It would be folly to lay blame at Simon Oliver's door---Sir Teddy wasn't even sure, at this point, if that was the blackguard's real name. No. They would have to let the matter drop, as painful---physically, financially, and emotionally---as that might be. Lady Piedmont must be kept ignorant of his presence in Hertfordshire; they could not afford to compromise their position with the viper at roost so near at hand. The best end to the entire affair, Darcy concluded, would be for Sir Teddy to recover, Arnold to depart to whatever ---- he had come from, and two tickets to be purchased on the nearest ship to the Americas. Lizzy was indignant.

"Why should they be forced to go?" she asked. "What wrong have they ever committed? Why should you be forced into exile?"

"I cannot hurt Olivia any more than I already have," Sir Teddy said simply, "and now we have a child on the way. How can I continue as I have? What grounds do I have to accuse my brother now?"

"It would be better for all involved to have a fresh start," Darcy said. "Once my father and I have sorted through our affairs…" there was a momentary flash of pain across his face, "then I will divulge all of your history, sir. He is to be trusted."

"Mr. Darcy is a good man and a dear friend," agreed Sir Teddy.

"He will help you; I am sure of it. But first you must heal!"

"I shall try my very best," Sir Teddy replied, with a wink at Lizzy. "With the help of such a beautiful nurse, what man would not mend?"

"Flattery works no magic upon me!" Lizzy retorted, with a toss of her head. "This is not how I envisioned things working out in the end! Allowing the black-hearted, scheming villains to run away…while the hero and heroine must creep off into oblivion. What right has anyone to take Lady Piedmont from me? She has become one of my dearest friends, and sometimes the only sensible woman in Hertfordshire I can talk to!"

"Do not be selfish, Lizzy," chided Darcy gently. "She will write…"

Lizzy made a dismissive harrumph but said nothing more upon the subject. In her mind, she was calculating the length of time it would take Sir Teddy to recover. Did the doctor not say it would take a month at least? That would give her ample time to concoct a better plan…

* * *


	20. Amelia Takes Up Arms

_Wow. I know I keep apologizing for my long writing absences. BUT IT'S SUMMER!!! Actually, it's the summer before my freshman year in college. And my goal this summer is to complete this story, which has been, to my amazement, two years into the making. No more of my excuses. I hope to write two-three chapters a week. We're nearing the end of this installment…and I think you'll be pretty surprised at the outcome. _

_Chapter 20_

_Amelia Takes up Arms_

Much to Lizzy's chagrin, she was banished to her room for the remainder of the week, separated from Darcy, Sir Theodore, and all civilization on what she termed the "slightest of evidence." Mrs. Bennet had no proof of her absence, besides ancillary gossip, and, thus, had no right to closet her off. The only pleasure it afforded her was the fact that she could read and think all day, with no interruptions save the prompt arrival of breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner by tray. Denied access to Betsy, Rose, and Jane, she had no means by which to communicate with Darcy, and all her windows had been secured to prevent further escape.

On the following Saturday, she was finally released…in order to attend a garden party.

"I refuse to attend!" she announced to her mother, that morning at her first free breakfast. "You release me in order to force me into a garden party, of all things! I would rather be fed, limb by limb, to _crocodiles_."

Mrs. Bennet, obviously unphased by an image, merely sputtered eggs into her napkin and repeated her command.

"I have no say," Mr. Bennet informed his daughter, when she turned her imploring eyes to his face. "Your mother holds the hand, my dear."

The party was to be held at the Longs, a beriddoned affair, with everything served in miniature. The Bennets arrived to find the lawn covered in gauze and lace, with profusions of elaborate floral arrangements, garlands of ribbon and silk and satin and all other decorations at odds with nature. The meal consisted of tiny petit fours and finger sandwiches, saucers of punch and thin slivers of beef.

"Nothing is fit to eat," Lizzy crossly informed Jane, skewering a strawberry with her fork. "I don't understand why people must shrink their food." She glanced at Sir William Lucas who was shoveling coin-sized cookies into his mouth. "The size of the food doesn't matter…it's all going to the same place."

Jane smiled at the passers-by and squeezed her sister's hand. "No need to question taste, Lizzy. You must remember, it is not our party."

"Very well," Lizzy grumbled, screwing up her face at all the ostentatious decorations. She was quite determined _not_ to enjoy herself.

Darcy, squiring his betrothed about, lacked the time or discretion to consult with her on Sir Teddy's condition. Amelia had lured him to a small boat near a sliver of pond and was imploring him to take her out, assured that her dainty new bonnet would be quite set off against the blue of the water.

"Fitzwilliam," she said, as Darcy rowed out into the middle of the pond. Her parasol rested on her right shoulder, protecting her delicate porcelain skin. "I have been meaning to broach this subject but was unsure of how to do it without injuring your feelings. I know how tender a matter this is…"

Darcy drew up the oars and stopped rowing, allowing the boat to float of its own volition. Sunlight danced across the surface of the water, bright and dazzling as a gold coin. "Be at ease, Amelia. Feel free to discuss whatever you like. I hope that we can always be open and honest with each other. That, I believe, is key to a happy marriage."

_Poor, idealistic soul! _Amelia thought, with some traces of regret. Manipulation was, after all, her forte, and she was just about to reveal her considerable prowess. "I was only worried," she said, dropping her eyes to her lap, "about the relations between yourself and your father. I cannot help feeling so very, _very_ guilty. I am, after all, the sole reason of your sustained…argument…and the loss of your inheritance…and your father's favor."

Darcy stretched out a hand to take hers, abandoning the oar and allowing it to clatter on the bottom of the boat. "Don't feel guilty, please! I beseech you. Do not, for one moment, think you are the only cause of this feud." He stroked the small hand, warmly applying pressure to the palm. "My father has certain… strong ideas and inclinations. He is old and unwilling to accept change, and I believe, for some time now, has entertained the idea that Lizzy and I would one day wed." He laughed a little. "Preposterous idea, if you think about it, but one that he has, no doubt, held close to his heart. Elizabeth has always been like a surrogate daughter to him, and he does not wish any to challenge her place in his heart."

Amelia nodded. "Of course. That is quite understandable. I should never hope to take her place."

Darcy sighed. "He has such a large, affectionate nature…it would not be difficult for him to clear another spot in his favor. But he is so set against it, you see…and, being quite honest, I think he believes you to be mercenary, a social climber…" Noting the horrified expression on his beloved's face, he quickly added, "But, of course, that is all proven false now…now that, despite my penniless state, my poverty and destitution, you have remained firmly by my side, my chosen and my beloved."

Noting their relative seclusion, Darcy bestowed a chaste peck upon her cheek. Amelia blushed becomingly. They adjusted themselves into a more proper position, before Amelia resumed the subject. "This is the part that I have, as yet, failed to bring to your attention, believing it would cause you pain…that my suppositions could be horribly wrong. I would never do any injustice to my cousin Elizabeth. I know her nature, as you do, and love her, as you do, for her…individuality." She paused, opening wider her parasol. "But, Fitzwilliam, I am afraid that…that…that beneath Lizzy's condemnation of rank and fortune, beneath her wild, uncivilized demeanor, she is as mercenary as ever your father suspected me of being."

"Lizzy?!?" Darcy exclaimed, "mercenary?" He laughed. "I have never heard of something so implausible!" Realizing his words and the look that spread itself across Amelia's face, he quickly apologized. "But however could you have imagined that?"

"Think of what she has won out of our love! Your inheritance, so wrongfully bestowed! Think of the great influence she has over you father. How many years has she cultivated his love? How many years has she wormed her way into his affection? And now she seems to act as his counselor!"

"Amelia…" Darcy said, faltering, "what you accuse her of…this is _Lizzy_ we are speaking of, remember."

"Again," Amelia inserted, once more adjusting her parasol, "I would never consciously do my cousin any harm. I love her sincerely, despite her apparent hatred of myself. But I can no longer remain silent. I have noticed a certain…greediness in her gaze these days. At Longbourne, when we are alone together, she speaks of little else but her fortune, how rich she shall be, what freedom she will enjoy as an independent woman. And have you not noticed that she no longer rails against our engagement, no longer merely tolerates it, but has openly encouraged it? Why should that be?"

Darcy shook his head. "I cannot believe this."

"I am not asking you to believe it, dearest," Amelia said, "only to hear it. Now that your father has denied audience with you, have refused your company and cast you from his goodwill forever, it is Lizzy that he turns to. What if…I must say it, as much as it pains you…you have been nursing a viper to your bosom all these years?"

"I have known Lizzy since she was but eight years of age. Surely…surely you are not suggesting?"

"She is not who you believe her to be, Fitzwilliam. That is all that I am saying," Amelia said. She gazed meditatively out over the water, to where her cousin was standing with Jane. "You must not trust her as you have been inclined to. You must be wary of her actions, of her motives."

"Please, Amelia," Darcy said, his face set and hard as stone, "no more. I can hear no more of this."

Amelia nodded. "Of course, darling. Do not blame me for broaching the subject. I do it only in your own interest."

They reached the shore, and Darcy gave Amelia his arm, helping her reclaim the ground. No sooner had he deposited her, than Lizzy had reached him, demanding he take her out. "You've had him long enough," she told Amelia. "And I've brought a chaperone, too," she informed Darcy, shoving forward a giggling Lydia," because Mother and Amelia both apparently believe I have designs upon you." She laughed merrily, but stopped when she observed Darcy's hard expression. "Well, what's made you sour, then?" she asked, "granted, this party is an abominable waste of an afternoon and liable to make a saint cross, but, really, Darcy, you look fit for murder."

"We have no need of a chaperone," he informed her.

"Well, Lydia, I'm sorry to disappoint, but your services are no longer required," Lizzy informed her youngest sister. Ignoring Darcy's proffered hand, she helped herself into the boat. "I'll row," she said, taking up the oars before Darcy could wrest them from her. "I know it's an affront to your manhood and all, but I think I would like the exercise."

The boat pulled smoothly out into the pond. Clouds had amassed in the sky, blocking the light of the sun, and the water was cast in shadow. "A weeklong absence has been enough to turn us silent, eh?" Lizzy asked, once they had reached a considerable distance from the shore. "We usually have so much to talk about, after being parted. And now this." She played with the oar, tracing it lightly over the surface.

"I have just had an…unsettling conversation with Amelia. Forgive me if I'm quiet."

Lizzy didn't like the look of Darcy. He had withdrawn into himself, which he rarely did whilst in her company. They had been open with each other so long, now to reach this! "I hope it wasn't over any of Amelia's clothing bills. She's been amassing _quite_ the trousseau, I'll have you know. Enough petticoats to sink a ship, I'll warrant."

Darcy didn't laugh. "Do you approve, then, of my marriage?" he asked. "Because I remember a time when it caused you nothing but the deepest pain."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I can do nothing but approve. If you love Amelia as you say you do, then you should have no qualms upon whether I like this betrothal or not. I'm no the one you're marrying, so my opinion hardly matters."

"There was a time, Lizzy, when you were quite of another state of mind," Darcy said, "what has changed?"

Lizzy felt the cut of the words. For weeks now, she had been doing nothing but blocking the painful thought of Darcy's marriage from her mind. For weeks now, she had worked and worked to come to, at least, an acceptance. "You hurt me, Darcy, more than you know," she said. There was a long lull of silence before she asked, "What has Amelia been saying to you? Eh? In what way has she been poisoning your thoughts against me, and why have you let her?"

"She has been doing nothing of the kind," he replied stiffly.

"Well," Lizzy said, her anger stoked, "you shouldn't let her meddle in your affairs in the manner in which she does. What right has she to advise you?"

"As my fiancé," Darcy said, "she has a great deal more right than _you_ do."

Lizzy stood up, incensed. "Damn you, Fitzwilliam Darcy! Damn you!" she cried, and, with no more thought, shifted her weight against the side of the boat and flipped it.


	21. Making a Splash

What do you know? Another chapter. With a surprise at the end…but don't skip ahead, because Lizzy gets some revenge…

**Chapter 21**

_Making a Splash_

Elizabeth rose, sputtering to the surface. She was an excellent swimmer, but the heavy, ridiculous dress her mother had forced her to wear to the garden party was weighing her down. She flung out her arms, searching for the safe shape of the boat. It was all to no avail. She could feel nothing but water slip through her fingers. Suddenly, a warm arm closed around her waist, and she was being dragged to shore by Darcy.

The pond itself was only deep in some places. Once Darcy had kicked about ten feet in, both could touch the bottom. "I am perfectly capable…" Elizabeth argued, wresting herself from his grip. Screened as they were by the expanse of cultivated wilderness that ran parallel from the lawn, they had escaped detection by any of the garden party.

Lizzy, rooted in place like a particularly stubborn piece of seaweed, watched Darcy's retreating back as he made his way toward shore. The anger still surged through her veins, a hot, physical anger that demanded some release. She wanted to hit something, or, rather, someone. As fast as she could, in such an anchor as a sodden dress proved, she launched herself at Darcy. The attack proved unexpected.

She caught fast onto his back, pushing him face-forward into the water. There was a large and very pronounced splash, before Darcy surfaced, and, gathering up the bundle of sodden taffeta, threw it as far as he could muster strength. Lizzy found herself once more in the midst of the lake, once more struggling to swim. Once more, a warm arm closed around her waist, and, once more, she was being dragged to shore by Darcy.

She splashed him bitterly, floating on her back as he pulled her. "I am going to be exiled to my room again," she said, to no one in particular, "and Mama is going to be livid."

"Serves you right," he choked. He was still attempting to cough up the water that had lodged within his lungs. Lizzy meanwhile, was exhaling water from her nasal passages. She twisted in his hold, but he retained his grip. "I am going to carry you right out there in front of everyone, regardless of what they will think, and deliver you into the loving arms of your mother."

"You _wouldn't_!" she cried, aghast.

He made a face at her. "Don't believe me incapable of any evil at this point. Now stop wriggling."

She stopped, more out of exhaustion than obedience. But before they could reach the shore, she slipped from his hands and out into the water again. Pulling at the buttons on her gown, she managed to loosen and remove it. Her cotton shift was more than adequate, both modest and comfortable and, most importantly, much easier to swim in. She cast the wet lump of cloth into the water, more than willing to watch it sink.

"Lizzy!" Darcy hissed, frozen in place. "What if someone _sees_?"

She only laughed, diving underwater. He watched the ripples near him, and then Lizzy surfaced again and splashed him. He grabbed her up and tossed her out again, and she quietly returned underwater and grabbed at his ankles, hoping to hoist him up or at least cause him to fall backwards. Alas! To no avail. Darcy was quite solid, and nothing Lizzy could do would unsettle his sure stance. She could only compensate by splashing large amounts of water at his face, and darting about him like a small silver fish.

* * *

Within the safety of the forest, Amelia met Rupert. He was waiting for her by a clump of young trees, tearing the tender skin from their branches and whistling some obscure drinking song. "My dove!" he called, at the sound of her approach. "My angel! My life!"

Amelia felt a twinge of irritation. Darcy, though deficit in certain important areas Rupert was not, nevertheless had the decency to refrain from excessive sentiment. She disliked many endearments on principle, preferring to be referred to only as "dearest" and "darling."

She walked gracefully, sweeping her voluminous skirt along the forest floor, collecting an abundance of pine needles and dead leaves in the folds. Normally, this would have sent her into hysterics, but she chose, at this moment in time, to regard it as a casualty of secret trysting.

Rupert's greedy fingers went instantly to the buttons at the nape of her neck, but she slapped them away. "Not today, sir," she said, with a mixture of cheekiness and authority. "I beseech you; we are too close to company."

Rupert had little care for _that_ but refrained from further unbuttoning upon point of Amelia's parasol, which she had held to his stomach as a precautionary measure. Coward as he was, this was quite enough to cool his ardor. "My sparrow, why this sudden caution? Have we not had forests before as our bowers to aid in our act of…"

Amelia held a finger to his lips, which he promptly kissed. "I must counsel with you, Rupert."

"Have you decided, at last, to elope?" he asked. "My buttercup, I have waited so very long for this moment…I am so glad that you have at last thrown off that odious ogre of a fiancé. He is not of your sweet mold." Again, he stooped to kiss her, only to be once more rebuked by the point of the parasol.

"I have yet to decide on that matter," she said, curling a finger against her chin. "It is so very difficult, you must understand, to break an engagement…and an elopement would be the ruin of my reputation. I cannot risk it."

"What I would risk in the face of love!" Rupert cried, taking her hand and drawing it to his lips. "What feats I would attempt if only to gain your favor…"

Amelia suppressed a sigh. Had he not already gained her favor…on more than one occasion? "That I love you dearly, I know," she lied, for she really did not care for Rupert Pettigrew at all, though the prospect of his fortune and connections certainly warmed the cockles of her heart. And the prospect of Piedmont Park was, by no means, repellant. Weighed against Darcy and Pemberley, of course, it was nothing, but what grounds did she have to expect anything from that quarter? Especially now, when Mr. Darcy appeared to have no intentions of relenting?

For some weeks now she had been contemplating her options, and yet she had arrived at no satisfactory solution. It either appeared she must fly in the face of society and elope with Rupert…enjoying wealth and prosperity (he had, indeed, assured her of the extent of his inheritance on more than one occasion)…yet enduring exclusion and scorn, or bind herself to the penniless Darcy, to live, loyal and beloved yet quite destitute, by his side…and watch Elizabeth become a wealthy woman and Caroline Bingley become mistress of Pemberley (for that would surely occur when Charles inherited the estate, considering the fact that such a numskull could never secure a proper wife). Thus, Amelia's predicament.

"Elope with me, Amelia, and let us bind our great fortunes together!" Rupert was insisting. He had fallen to his knees now, and was embracing her feet. His hands, no averse to roaming, were making their way up her legs, and she slapped them away absently. "You will never have to face Darcy or break the engagement…it will be so easy…and fast!" For if there was one thing Rupert Pettigrew was desirous of (besides the obvious…) it was speed. If Amelia discovered his lies before she had become his bride, he would be ruined. After all, wealthy heiresses were in short supply in Hertfordshire, and it was clear that Elizabeth Bennet would roast him in a pot and eat him before she would ever consider marrying him. And he spent a great deal of time and endearments on Amelia Lawrence, composed a great many love poems in her honor (with a little help from Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott). Therefore, he was not about to allow her to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy and endow that fool with her fortune.

"I will give you an answer by the end of next week," Amelia informed him, stroking his head. Such small acts of love were necessary to encourage him. She bent down to his side. "And, if you are so inclined, we shall meet again tomorrow. Near Browning Pond? I shall…certainly find some entertainment for us."

He smiled, understanding immediately. If there was one thing he enjoyed about their secret trysts…

Voices caught their attention. In the distance, the sound of laughter and splashing.

"Shall we investigate, sweet rose?" Rupert asked, seizing her round the waist, one eye trained on the parasol.

Amelia nodded, allowing him to lead her to the edge of the forest, where the lawn reclined to the swell of the pond. In the distance, they noted the pinpricks of figures, turning round in the water.

"Let us go closer," Amelia said. She struggled out of Rupert's embrace and walked quietly to the edge of the lake, secreting herself behind a beechwood tree. Now commanding an excellent view of the water, she found the figures to be none other than Elizabeth and Darcy. Lizzy was in Darcy's arms, and they were turning circles in the water, laughing uproariously. Lizzy, Amelia noted, was in her shift.

If she had been able, Amelia would have impaled her cousin with her parasol.

"This shall not be borne!" she exclaimed, and, pushing past Rupert, she stormed from her hiding spot.

Darcy and Elizabeth saw her at once, and Darcy, noting her fury, dropped Lizzy gently back into the water.

"What on earth are you doing?" Amelia demanded. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's only a bit of fun," Darcy explained, "Lizzy overturned the boat, you see, and, then…well…"

"I wanted to go for a swim," Lizzy explained. "Care to join?"

"Saucy little mix!" Amelia cried, brandishing her parasol. "How _dare_ you!"

Rupert, always disliking confrontation, had chosen this as an opportune moment to vanish. Alone on the bank, Amelia seethed with rage. "That is _my_ betrothed."

"Well, congratulations!" Lizzy returned, unable to repress sarcasm. "Can he not be my friend as well? Or do you claim a monopoly upon his person?"

"I am at fault too, Amelia," Darcy said. He was returning to the shore, his face creased with guilt and sheepishness. "I should have acted more my age."

But Amelia's anger was directed only at her cousin. "I do not know what to say to you, Elizabeth Bennet."

"Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what you are going to say to me," Lizzy leveled. "We have had a conversation, if I am not mistaken."

Amelia colored, narrowing her eyes. "I know to what you allude, but I will not be silenced! You were _frolicking_," she hissed.

"Oohhh," Lizzy gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. "How scandalous!" She was nearing the bank where Amelia was standing, dangerously close to the edge of the water. Darcy had emerged from the pond and was standing slightly off, his back to the warmth of the sun.

Lizzy was whispering now, her face upturned to the wrath of her cousin. "And who, pray tell, were you with? Was that Rupert Pettigrew I saw skulking off? I wonder why he abandoned you?"

Amelia, glancing nervously to where Darcy stood, leaned down. Just as she was within a comfortable distance, Lizzy took her by the shoulders and, without further ado, pulled her in.

* * *

Amelia sat alone in her boudoir, examining her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was not yet dry from her swim in the pond-she had Elizabeth to thank for that. By the time Darcy had managed to fish her from the depths, she had been so choked with rage that she had been unable to face her cousin for the remainder of the day. They had managed to return to Longbourne unseen by the aid of Lady Piedmont's carriage and, as yet, no one in all of Hertfordshire knew of their swim. As Darcy had assured her, there was no harm done. She, however, could not share in this opinion and had indulged in a hearty batch of tears once she had closeted herself in her room, railing against Lizzy and life in general until she had spent her rage.

Now she had only her mirror for company. What she observed in the comforting surface was beauty distilled in its purest form. Touching her cheek, she could not help but feel the pride of ownership. She was mistress of this vessel; she commanded the wide, cerulean eyes, the long, thick lashes, the thick, fair hair. Men fell at her feet, they worshipped the ground she walked upon because of _this_…and this alone. She cast her eyes down upon the silver mirror on her dresser and traced the intricate lines embedded on the silver.

Why, then, was she so unhappy?

Amelia had never allowed herself to fall in love with any man. She was, in fact, unsure of her capacity to love. She had never loved her parents. Her father was a drunk, a hot-blooded Irishman who was rarely, if ever, at home. Her mother was too morose to be much company and too disillusioned with life itself to have any love left to expend upon her daughter. There had never been a fairy godmother, unless you counted Mrs. Bennet, and she was hardly of a fairytale quality. Sure, she bestowed affection and fondness, but one always knew that her true loyalties were to her flesh-and-blood daughters… Elizabeth included, as hard as it was to believe. Amelia had never really had any friends; she was entirely too fond of being the center of attention to suffer any threats. She had always been unsure how to regard other girls, choosing to view them as competition and competition alone.

Amelia found the safest person to love was herself. At least, then, she could be assured of reciprocal affection. It was not that she was innately narcissistic; it was just that, beneath the painted layers of confidence, she was really insecure.

That Fitzwilliam Darcy loved her, she was sure. Rupert Pettigrew, for all his professions of love, could be strung on the line of admirers. He was no different from any other. And yet, Fitzwilliam, with his gentleness, his tenderness, his concern for her well-being…she had never met a man like him before. She was not sure she could love him, for she did not necessarily believe she deserved him. In fact, she was a little in awe of him. He seemed to represent everything she was not, and she was sick of pretending to be perfect.

She was experienced in ways that Lizzy was not, more captivating, with her generous curves and softness, her perfect shape. Lizzy was still a girl. She, on the other hand, was a woman, endowed with experience.

Darcy himself never took liberties or made undue advances. He demanded nothing from her, which frustrated her greatly. Of course, there were stolen moments in which they were left entirely alone. But, though he never seemed reluctant, he always pulled himself away, held himself back. He was always the gentleman. No matter how willing, how pliant, how generous she acted, caressing and sensuous and passionate, no matter how many times she had offered herself to him, he had refrained. She could feel the desire at all times, it was tangible. She could feel it surging between them. So many times he almost lost himself, abandoning his scruples. But there was restraint and control, and it was always Darcy who broke from the embrace, who buttoned her dress, who resisted her caresses. She had no qualms about waiting for marriage, but he did. He was frustratingly chivalrous!

Rupert, on the other hand, craved her. Scarcely a day went by when he did not whisk her away to some secret corner, greedy in his appetite. Darcy only wanted to talk, to hold her hand. And Amelia did not like to talk about her feelings. She wanted to feel. She wanted action, excitement. Thankfully, Rupert was happy to supply his place.

Rupert was rich, Amelia thought idly, and he had the patronage of a peer. It would not be an altogether disastrous alliance, and Rupert had been pressuring her such a great deal…Surely lies were not the best foundation to a union, and he would, understandably, be irate when he discovered she had not a shilling to her name, but did he not have enough to go around? She did not love him, of course, but she had never intended to love her husband. As Lady Piedmont, she would ask only for what was due her station, and he could have as many dalliances as he wished. She intended to have her own.

Darcy was a different matter. There was no guarantee of his father's relenting…it was highly unlikely, in fact, considering all that had transpired between them at the ball. Mr. Darcy seemed set in his fantasies of a marriage between his son and Elizabeth Bennet, and Amelia was nothing but an obstacle to his happiness. If the marriage progressed, as it seemed to be doing at an alarming rate, then he would only seal himself off from all contact and hope of inheritance would be lost altogether.

If only Darcy would take her! There was such an urgent need to be with him. She was with child. She had discovered the fact only the other day, and, although she was not yet certain, she was fairly sure. Rupert, of course, was the father, but she was not willing to throw herself so quickly to his care. Perhaps this was the deciding factor, the sign that she should elope with Pettigrew. But she still held out hope for Darcy, believed, in fact, that the warm feeling spreading though her being was love. If she could somehow convince him…loosen his restrictions…or, at least, proceed with the marriage. But, on all fronts, speed was necessary. If it did not happen quickly enough, Darcy would know of her betrayal.

A desperate plan began to shape itself within her mind…


	22. Among Other Things

Here it is, guys! Aren't you proud of me? And I've already started on the next chapter, which is going to be one of my absolute favorites. As I mentioned on my profile page, I plan to update every Friday. But I thought I would post this one today because I'm rather proud of the developments…thanks for the reviews. They make my days and encourage me to write further. There is nothing like feedback to fuel a story! Anyway, enough of my rambling!

* * *

Chapter 22

_Among Other Things..._

The following weeks were fraught with tension and surreptitious meetings. Elizabeth and Darcy, unable to see one another as they had been used due to the 'talk' circulating the neighborhood, were forced to use codes and signals to arrange dusky meetings near tree stumps in the forest. Feeling instinctively that they were being watched by more than the scandal-starved Meryton villagers, both remained alert and cautious at all times. Trips to the boat were out of the question. Instead, they relayed messages back and forth with the assistance of Geri.

Mrs. Bennet, for obvious reasons, was keeping Lizzy on a tight rein, so she was unable to freely roam Hertfordshire. Visits to Haye-Park were further restricted, and her mother could not have picked a _worse _moment to become protective. With Lady Piedmont in her current condition, Lizzy's counsel and support were of the utmost necessity. Yet, Lizzy was only able to see Lady Piedmont in snatches…and was unable to keep much of an eye upon Arnold and his doings.

The situation only worsened. After throwing her embroidery hoop in the pigpen one afternoon during a surge of desperate anger, Lizzy was confined to the house altogether. For the entirety of a week, she was forced to remain captive. Notes were smuggled in, of course, by way of Betsy and Rose, and she was able to keep tabs upon many of her dependents by these illicit correspondences. But it was in no way comparable to actually _seeing _them.

Those who addressed her most frequently by post were Joe Lawrence, Mr. Darcy, Darcy, and Lady Piedmont.

According to Joe's jumbled script (heaven knows who taught him to write; Lizzy believed it to be a troop of monkeys), Sir Teddy was vastly improved and quite on the mend. He was, however, as adamant as ever that Lady Piedmont remain ignorant of his whereabouts, declaring it necessary to preserve her safety. Lady Piedmont, on the other hand, had confided her pregnancy to Lizzy by letter and was distraught over her husband's safety, having heard nothing from him. She begged Elizabeth to come to her immediately, which distressed Lizzy to no end, considering her imprisonment. Mr. Darcy also demanded a visit; and Darcy's letter was a vitriolic spatter of anger, involving such questions as, "Are you quite out of your mind?" and "Now is _not _the time to be locked into your room." Confronted with these separate dilemmas, Lizzy finally managed an escape by Friday evening, managing to squeeze through one of the upstairs windows Mrs. Bennet had _not _bothered to lock, believing it beyond her daughter's reach.

She ran immediately to Haye-Park, believing Lady Piedmont's predicament to be the most severe. She found the poor lady wracked with growing concern over the sudden halt in Sir Teddy's weekly correspondence, a very pale and agitated shell of her former self. Lizzy was disheartened by her condition. Concern for her safety, however, kept her quiet. After all, as Sir Teddy had argued, it would not do for her to know of his whereabouts; she could not help but betray some emotion, and Arnold would sniff something. Already, he was hawk-eyed in his attentions towards her. A few more afternoon visits convinced Lizzy of that fact.

As for Lady Piedmont's condition-well, fortunately she was not yet showing. Her husband had been "dead", after all, for going on a year, and, unless she braved the great dragon of society's wrath, she was going to have to invent _some _excuse for her pregnancy. In the first few months, naturally, she could pin the blame on a few excess pastries, but what would become of her when she was into her third term? Hertfordshire society, as dense as it was, was not composed of total dunderheads. They were like bloodhounds when it came to pregnancies, able to sniff out even the slightest bump. Whatever time she could steal away from Longbourne, Lizzy devoted to her friend. Countless hours they spent closeted away in the library together, attempting to formulate some excuse for Lady Piedmont's growing condition. But even Lizzy's imagination was being taxed to the extreme.

"Ravishment by a raving lunatic could work," had been only one of her numerous suggestions, though Lady Piedmont delicately shot it down. Various negative side-effects were sure to result; the neighborhood would be set in arms and pitchforks and torches would be turned after the poor imaginary creature. Lizzy, always game for a spectacle, couldn't see the harm and was rather relishing the idea of taking up arms and joining the mad rabble. But she didn't push the idea.

The following Monday her mother, entirely ignorant of the fact that her daughter had been escaping through the upstairs window for over three days now, finally released her from her long imprisonment, threatening to place her in the basement if there were any more infractions. With a saucy smile, Lizzy thanked her, then disappeared out the door.

She made her way to Haye-Park again, determined to further consult with Lady Piedmont. As she made her way into the library, their usual meeting place, she could hear faint voices, low whispers. Never one to miss an opportunity for eavesdropping, she secreted herself behind a walnut bookshelf and strained to overhear the secret conversation.

"He lives, then?" someone was asking, his voice cracking with alarm. It was Arnold; Lizzy was sure of it. "I should have known!"

"No longer," another voice replied. It did not, Lizzy observe, belong to Rupert, as it was deep and sonorous, lacking Rupert's signature nasally twang. "He was, unfortunately, shot at a roadside inn by some horrible villain." The men laughed at this, all privy to some secret joke that Lizzy did not think at all funny.

"How fortunate you should have found him!" Rupert's voice interjected, "why, you have really managed beautifully, old chap! Killed two birds with one stone, if you know the old proverbial saying."

"Taken the money and run!" Arnold added gleefully. "And where might this substantial amount be housed, may I inquire?"

The unidentified man hesitated for a moment. There was silence. "I have secured it within a reputable bank, under my alias, Simon Oliver."

Lizzy was not of the gasping nature, otherwise she would have drawn a considerable intake of breath. So Arnold had had dealings with the devil who had so senselessly shot Sir Theodore! How it made her blood _boil_! But she felt she should have known.

She must see this cad. Hooking her fingers over the rim of one of the upper shelves of the bookcase, she silently inched upwards, peering over the books and into the shadowy gloom of the study, where the three men were assembled by a large fireplace. The features of Rupert and Arnold she could vaguely make out; they were swimming in the half-gloom of the library, the light from the sun cutting through the blinds over the windows and carving dark lines into their faces. The third man had his face drawn towards the mantelpiece-she could only catch a glimpse of a strong chin and straight nose. But something was vaguely familiar about the stance, the overall degree of bearing…

As she peered closer into the gloom, the man turned, as did her heart. For standing before her was none other than George Wickham.

**

* * *

**

"So Wickham's in league with them, eh?" Darcy asked, swinging angrily at a branch. "I should have known!"

A breathless Lizzy sat recovering her breath. She had run all the way to the Mermaid, anxious to relate all that she had seen and overheard. Darcy, noting her wild appearance, had steered her off into a clearing beyond the inn. Lizzy had thrown herself onto an old tree stump, and he was standing near her, his arms locked at his sides.

"It certainly explains his disappearances! We thought we were lucky to be rid of him so easily! I should have known," he repeated, pulling a hand over his eyes. "Of course he would turn to thievery and vice. He fell from my father's favor for just those sins. A true villain."

"What remains to be seen is," Lizzy said, holding a hand to her side, "what they are planning. They obviously believe Sir Teddy to be dead, which works in our favor. We hold on our side the element of surprise."

"Yes! But what of it? Wickham has access to all of Sir Teddy's holdings; Arnold has claimed the entirety of his estate and title. How are we to prove them both guilty of attempted murder? We have no proof!"

"If only Sir Theodore had only accused his brother _then_," Lizzy said, rather bitterly. "We could have avoided this catastrophe. Why must he be so infuriatingly good?"

"We have no right to question his motives now," Darcy said, "what's done is done, after all, and he probably thought he was doing for the best."

"I hate to leave Lady Piedmont in that den of thieves!" Lizzy exclaimed suddenly. "And in her condition…she's absolutely helpless, Darcy!"

"It would hardly be proper to remove her from her own guests," he said sarcastically.

"Well…what can we do?" she asked. "I hated feeling so unsettled!" She squinted up her eyes very tightly and balled her fingers into fists, commanding a plan to spring into her mind. But she could think of nothing to undo this mess.

"I'm afraid the only thing we can do for Sir Theodore and Lady Piedmont now is to book them passage on the next ship to America," Darcy said quietly.

But Lizzy remained unconvinced. "We must think this over more. Surely there is some other option…"

* * *

In the midst of such tumult, confusion, and danger, Lizzy made her way to Netherfield Park to visit Mr. Darcy. She was met in the hall by Georgiana, a bright, rosy-cheeked girl of ten who quite idolized Elizabeth.

"Hullo, Georgi," Lizzy said, ruffling the girl's golden curls. "Is Uncle Willy-Ben quite at his leisure? I've come to see him, you know."

"I'm afraid he's not feeling very well, Lizzy," said Georgiana, suddenly subdued, "but I'm sure he will be very happy to see you. He always is." She led her through the various corridors of Longbourne until coming to Mr. Darcy's door. "I'll let you go in alone, then," she said. "I've just had tea with him; he's probably tired of my company."

Lizzy rapped once, then let herself in the door. This was a mistake, for Mr. Darcy, caught off guard, was sunken back upon his pillows, looking weak and lifeless. When he caught sight of Elizabeth, he attempted to compose himself, straightening up against his pillows and pulling a smile from his lips. But she had seen him as he truly was, and, hide away her grief as she did, this image of her benefactor and beloved friend would never leave her mind.

She took his hand. "I hadn't expected you to still be in bed. It's past noon, you know. Shame, shame." She clicked her tongue, folding her skirts beneath her and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I've never known you to keep such sorry hours!"

He shrugged, smiling. "I must admit…I have grown lazy these past few weeks. It's quite easy when everyone is so willing to serve you."

"Well…you shan't get any favors from me," Lizzy said, "I'm still quite angry over this inheritance business and wish you to know that I shall use your fortune most deviously if you do not rectify the situation soon."

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Heaven knows what you will do with the money, Lizzy."

"I will become the patroness of a traveling circus," Lizzy explained, "and fund the missions of pirates. I will finance the construction of several taverns across the countryside and try my hand at gambling."

"You should, no doubt, take up drinking, too, while your at it," he remarked, quite seriously.

"That is an excellent suggestion. It would probably be wise if I were permanently inebriated, now that I think about it," she said.

"May I confide in you, Uncle Willy-Ben?" Lizzy asked, though she knew the question was superfluous.

Mr. Darcy turned kind, affectionate eyes upon her. "Why, of course, my dear. That is the sole meaning of my existence, is it not? Tell me everything…short of all the murders you've committed. I haven't the heart for _those_."

"And I haven't the time to tell the numbers," she replied. "But it's about the Piedmonts, Sir Theodore Piedmont, to be exact."

Mr. Darcy nodded. "Yes, terrible business. A tragic death. Sir Theodore was one of the only men in London I could trust and a dear friend, besides. The best of men, indeed, my dear. The best of men."

"He's not dead," Lizzy said, "that's the secret."

"_What_?"

Lizzy took a deep breath before plunging into the story. She related all that had occurred over the past year, from her first meeting with Sir Theodore and Lady Piedmont to Lady Piedmont's pregnancy to Sir Teddy's unfortunate wound. When she had finished, winding together the threads of her story, Mr. Darcy was stunned. "To imagine all this has transpired practically under my nose!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She shrugged. "All this business with Darcy was taxing you enough."

He shook his head. "I regret my ignorance. The Piedmonts have always been great friends. They were good to Bingley, you know, and I have always wished that I could serve them in some turn. It seems their time of trial has been long…to imagine Theodore still alive! I am torn between great happiness and great distress…this is quite a predicament, Lizzy." A flush illuminated his cheeks; this sudden distraction had worked wonders upon him in the space of half an hour. He felt purposeful, somehow. Confronted with the problems of others, he could temporarily forget his own.

"That is why, sir," she said, keeping her voice level and respectful, "it would be of the greatest benefit to all parties if you attempted a reconciliation with Darcy. Think how much we could help the Piedmonts if we all worked _together_!"

But Mr. Darcy would have none of this. "I love my son too much," he said, "to allow him to throw his happiness away that mercenary chit." Strong words for Mr. Darcy! A cough sprang to his lips at this, no doubt brought about by his anger. "He must be made to see the error of his ways."

Elizabeth sighed. "I would not argue with you, Uncle Willy-Ben, but I fear that you wrong Darcy more than you right him. What are you doing but distancing yourself from him? You are obviously quite ill, and yet you refuse to see your son, who loves you beyond measure! You cannot impose your ideal of happiness upon him. He must be allowed to make his own mistakes. Can you not see that?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. "I thank you for your wisdom, Lizzy, but I am quite set in my course. Nothing you can say or do will sway me from my ultimate goal."

"Which is?" she asked.

He shook his head. "To remain lodged within my mind until at last it unfolds before my eyes."

She brought her hands to her forehead and pressed her temples.

"I only hope to make him see reason," Mr. Darcy added, a few minutes later. "He is my only son, and I care deeply for his welfare. But you know that."

"I know how much you love him," she said, "I only wish you would tell _him_. it really is no good telling me."

But a sudden thought occurred to her. She had not yet told him of Wickham's dealings in the matter.

"But there is worse news!" she said, returning to her theme. "For I have forgotten to relate recent developments."

Mr. Darcy waited, his brow slightly furrowed.

She told him of Wickham, who had masqueraded under the alias of Simon Oliver, and shot Sir Theodore. After the telling of which, Mr. Darcy emitted a series of flavorful words.

"I should have known as much!" he exclaimed, his face mottled with anger. "Cold blooded villain! But you do not know what occurred at Pemberley, do you, my dear?" he asked. "I commanded Darcy not to tell you; I had no desire for anyone to know. It is too painful."

Elizabeth knew of Wickham's dismissal from the estate; his summer visits to Hertfordshire had ended when she was thirteen. Though she had begged to know the specifics of his fall from favor, she had only ever received the vague answer that he had misbehaved. This had never come as a surprise to her; she had known Wickham to be a villain the moment she'd met him.

"Tell me, then," she said. "I should like very much to know."

Mr. Darcy closed his eyes. "He and Darcy both were around eighteen at the time…You remember Drusilla, do you not? The daughter of…"

"Nanny Craig!" Lizzy supplied, recalling childhood days spent with the raven-haired girl, one of the only of her own sex that she could tolerate. "Yes, of course I remember her."

"Nanny Craig remained at Pemberley, you see, to care for Georgiana. Drusilla, off at school in London, would return on holidays to stay with her mother. This particular autumnal break, perhaps a fortnight in length, brought her into the company of Wickham. I had no idea he was a seducer…or of the frequency of his dalliances. I do know, however, that within the space of Drusilla's short stay at the hall, she became pregnant." Mr. Darcy paused, allowing this information to soak in. After an appropriate amount of time, he continued. "She returned at Christmas. From what I can gather, she confronted Wickham about her condition. She had written him several letters, none of which he had bothered to reply to. Distraught, she hoped to gain his sympathy in person."

"What sympathy can a cold-hearted snake possess?" Lizzy interjected bitterly.

Mr. Darcy shook his head in agreement. "During one of our Christmas parties, Wickham spirited Drusilla away into the night. No doubt the poor girl was under the impression that he was going to attempt some romantic reconciliation…Wickham must have slipped her something in a flute of champagne. She apparently fell into a heavy sleep, and Wickham, taking full advantage of her helplessness, prepared to throw her in the lake. He had weighed her down with heavy bricks…Darcy, who, as you well know, detests parties in general, had retreated outside for fresh air…he saw the villain poised to dispose of his little indiscretion. I am sure you can guess the end of the story…"

"And is Drusilla quite alright?"

"Yes. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, whom we can hope retains none of the characteristics of her father."

"How could anyone be capable of such an act?" Lizzy asked, herself stunned by the extent of Wickham's wickedness.

"I assume he feared risking my wrath. He knew that, once I discovered the role he had played in Drusilla's condition, I would force him to marry the girl. Apparently, he had higher ambitions for himself…"

"To imagine such vile scum of the earth roaming this neighborhood!" Lizzy exclaimed. "I should like to personally tie him to a mound of bricks and drop him in the Nile. To see him at the mercy of crocodiles…well, it would be more than fitting punishment. He could die at the hands of his own kind."

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "I do not like him near Lady Piedmont."

"She is in a nest of vipers!" Lizzy said.

"But her removal would cause suspicion. We must tread carefully, my dear," Mr. Darcy advised, "I do not think either Wickham or Arnold is entirely certain of their success in the murder of Sir Theodore. Why else would Wickham remain in Hertfordshire? They must be hesitating…something is holding them back."

"Or else they have further plans! But what else could they want? They have taken everything from Sir Theodore! What more could they desire?"

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "I shall think on this, my dear. We shall both think on this…"

* * *

To have a birthday in the midst of such chaos! Yet it could not be helped.

Lizzy disliked birthdays on principle, believing them to be yet another narcissistic nod to man's self-worship. But she tolerated the presents.

The majority of Longbourne's residents was entirely too busy with wedding plans and Amelia's trousseau to bother with many felicitations. But Betsy and Rose had baked loaf after loaf of blueberry bread and Jane had an abundance of kisses to bestow…as well as a beautiful set of quills and a box of crisp stationary that she'd saved all her egg money to purchase, so the day was not entirely without its perks. Even her forgetful father had remembered the occasion, handing her a beautiful leather-bound edition of _Paradise Lost _and a box of her favorite toffees on his way to the library. Mr. Darcy's package arrived mid-afternoon, bestowed upon her by his manservant, who regretted to inform her that his master was too ill to congratulate her personally. This caused her a great deal of vexation, and she resolved to visit her ailing friend upon the morrow. Meanwhile, she unwrapped the lumpy brown package to find a key. After which proceeding, the manservant promptly revealed a wrought-iron cage containing, of all things, a parrot! She gasped with delight, drawing the heavy cage to her chest and peering down with wonder at the scarlet bird. He was similarly regarding her, his large, beetle-black eyes trained up to her face. A slight tip of the cage, and he was suddenly screeching, emitting a loud and very shrill string of curse words. The manservant, red-faced, informed her that he'd been raised by a sailor. This made the bird all the dearer to Lizzy. Taking him upstairs and into her room, she placed in a position of honor just before the window.

She expected Darcy to arrive sometime during the day, but, much to her disappointment, he came only to see Amelia, spiriting her away into the garden and ignoring Lizzy altogether. Hurt beyond words, she whiled the day away with her parrot, feeling quite emotionally caged herself.

She had settled herself into bed around nine when a series of loud raps sent her flying to the window. It was none other than Darcy below, tossing pebbles. This set the bird, whom Lizzy had named Pagageno, into a fiery flurry of indignation. She had to quiet him before opening the window.

"Did you think that I'd forgotten?" he called up, smiling.

"Well, you rather led me to believe it," she replied, feeling happier than she had all day.

"Come on, then."

"I think I'd rather leave you standing there in the cold, if you don't mind," Lizzy said, shutting her window. But she walked purposefully to her bed, tucked the sheets around a few pillows as a precaution, and grabbed her boots. Settling a heavy cloth over Papageno's cage, she bid her bird good-night. She then slipped on a heavy woolen cardigan and was out the window and upon the lawn, the dust settling around her feet.

In the evening sky, the moon as full and orange, dropping heavily, as if burdened by its own weight. A pale copy of the sun, Lizzy thought, taking hold of Darcy's arm as anchor whilst she slipped the back of her shoes over her heels.

"I swear…" Lizzy said, as her right foot returned heavily to the ground.

"O swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon," Darcy chimed, in a high falsetto. "Lest your love prove likewise variable."

"If you want variability," Lizzy said, "then swear by mine honesty!"

They laughed, and it cut the silence.

"How sad it must be to be the moon," said Lizzy, after a comfortable stretch of silence. She had no idea in what direction they were going; she simply followed Darcy, trusting him, "and yet, how glorious."

"I have a feeling you are going to explain yourself, so I will make no questioning response," he teased.

"I only mean," she said, her head inclined against her right shoulder, so that Darcy could just make out the pale curve of her neck, "that the sun always seems to be awarded the attention, the love. The sun is the center of attention; the moon is always in its shadow. But, sometimes, I think the moon-especially on a night like this-is the more beautiful. Don't you think? Just with the mystery? So much more is left to the imagination! Oh! Sometimes I love the darkness!"

"This from the girl who, only the other day, was luxuriating in the dawn, hoping it would never end," Darcy teased warmly.

She shook her head. "I can never make up my mind! If we were standing in the sun now, I would probably eat my words one by one and praise the day."

"At least you admit it."

"But, after all," she said, after a few moments of thought, " moonlight is so much gentler, so much softer. I think that moonbeams themselves are the residue of dreams…"

Darcy laughed, and she snapped from her reverie, a little sheepish.

"I never knew you to have romantic sensibilities, Elizabeth," he said, cutting her a little in the side with his elbow. She shrugged. "Everyone can dream, can't they?"

Bright pinpricks of light suddenly exploded before their eyes, faintly illuminating the darkness. "Fireflies!" Lizzy exclaimed delightedly. She had a great deal of fun catching them in her hands, watching in fascination as they explored the craters of her palms. "Look! I'm a human lantern!" she exclaimed, the light from several of the creatures illuminating her pale skin.

"Don't you prove useful?" he remarked sarcastically.

They climbed a split-rail fence, leaping nimbly over. Once on the other side, Darcy promised, "We're near."

Knowing questions were futile, Lizzy remained silent. They skirted the deep, close darkness of the woods. To Elizabeth, the old trees appeared to be sleeping, their branches heavy with fatigue. She herself felt so awake, so alive, she was almost straining with energy. Crossing a wide field, they wound along a path stamped into the high grass that grew along its edges, wary of mice. Overhead, the stars wreathed the sky, twinkling in their orbs, such friendly eyes. Before, Lizzy had always thought them cold and distant, but tonight they appeared to be glowing with warmth and hope, so near that she could almost reach out and string them round her neck. A necklace of stars. How greatly they outshone diamonds!

At last, they slowed their pace, creeping now. Darcy kept ahead, his arm held out against Lizzy shoulder, stilling her.

"They are expecting us," he said, "but I don't wish to startle them."

Lizzy, wild with anticipation, could hardly restrain herself.

Nothing could have prepared her for the surprise that lay ahead…

* * *

Okay…must attribute some things. The whole Wickham drugging Drusilla and attempting to cast her into the lake is an idea I stole from Cold Mountain. Lizzy's cursing parrot comes straight from the pages of Anne of Green Gables. He is named Pagageno after the bird-charmer of the same name from Mozart's glorious opera The Magic Flute.

Now…I need _your _counsel. I mentioned this on my profile page but thought I would also include a note here. There are one of two things I could do with this story. I could either tie everything up here or proceed into another book. I had always intended to do another story, wrapping this up as a trilogy…but I don't want to go overboard. I can't reveal the two ways this story could go without destroying plot, so I'll refrain from doing that. But could you endure another installment or would it be best if I finished it now? The third (and final, I promise) book would take place five years from now…Darcy will be 26 and Lizzy will be 21. Thoughts?


	23. O Sole Mio

* * *

I love you guys. Correction: I _adore _you guys. (For more on this, see the end note). Attributions for poems and song lyrics also listed at the bottom.

Chapter 23

_O Sole Mio_

"My Sun"

* * *

"A gypsy caravan!" Lizzy exclaimed, with supreme surprise. Through the branches of a copse of young birchwood trees, a small knot of carts and wagons was gathered. Brightly colored tents were scattered throughout a clearing, all forming a rather sloppy O. In the very middle of this formation, a large fire crackled merrily. Figures crouched about the warmth, finishing the remains of dinner. "I wasn't even aware they'd decamped to Hertfordshire!"

"At last!" Darcy exclaimed. "I am one step ahead of you."

She was too excited to be annoyed. How she had longed for this forbidden excursion! To befriend some of these people---such a fascinating, exotic race! Actual Romanis, descendents of Egypt. Renegades, pariahs, they claimed no home and had trekked across the whole of Europe. They lived the life she dreamed of, tied to no one place, no one way of life. How easily they escaped staid convention and avoided the tedious patterns of life!

They were still distant; Darcy obviously wished to wait until the dinner had been cleared. "I met Besnik and Tamas in the tavern at the Mermaid," he explained as they waited. "When they told me they were gypsies, I thought immediately of you."

Elizabeth nodded, a mark of her satisfaction. "Please sell me to them, Darcy," she begged, taking his arm. "Just think, I must be worth _something_. You can buy Amelia something pretty with the money. Only sell me, _please_."

He smiled down at her, amused. "These are gypsies, Lizzy," he reminded her, "not slave dealers or human traffickers. And your mother would murder me."

"She would _thank _you," Lizzy amended.

Darcy shook his head.

They started at the crunch of leaves, turning to find a man suddenly at their side. "Darcy!" he cried, clapping the aforementioned on the back. "Well, well, well. We have been expecting you. Come to visit, have you? As promised?"

"Besnik," Darcy replied, a smile breaking out across his face once he distinguished the familiar features of his friend. "This is Elizabeth."

Lizzy stepped forward. "Very nice to meet you. You don't know how much I already admire you and yours." She attempted to make out his features, but darkness veiled his face. All she could see was the gleam of white teeth.

"It's practical idolatry," Darcy whispered.

Besnik laughed deeply. "I have heard much about _you_, Lizzy. Of all your various adventures…and _mis_adventures." He took her by the arm. "Come. We must show you a little gypsy hospitality."

Guided by Besnik, they made their way into the midst of the gypsy camp. Tall shadows danced in the clearing, cast by the fire, which beckoned to them in a friendly fashion as they approached.

The others of Besnik's group were kind, though slightly aloof. They were beautiful, Lizzy thought, drinking in their dark, swarthy skin, almond-colored eyes, and thick, ebony curls.

"Welcome!" Besnik said finally, hooking his thumbs through the loops of his belt. Silhouetted against the light of the fire, Lizzy could finally make out his features. Tall and imposing, he had thick inky hair and a strong jaw. His lips were red pockets concealing impeccably white teeth.

They were a relatively small group, Lizzy noted, as she was invited to sit down before the fire. No more than fifteen, perhaps---mostly of the younger set. The men resembled Besnik, well-built and fierce in appearance, though they all had a merry gleam to their eyes. The girls were all extremely beautiful, with large, heavy eyes and skin the color of chocolate cream.

A small, finely-featured woman made her way to Besnik's side. Encircling her waist with a muscular arm, he introduced her as Nadya, his intended. Lizzy was fascinated with her large, slanted eyes; they were expressive, yet dark as night. She murmured her welcome, then detached herself from her betrothed and fell gracefully onto a chair placed before the fire. Lizzy thought her to be a queen. Even the old, rickety chair appeared to be a throne when she claimed it.

Immediately, Lizzy fell to chattering, throwing questions here, there, and everywhere, with Besnik amusedly attempting to follow. She wanted to know all about their travels, their adventures, their legends and superstitions and practices.

In terms of travel, Besnik was sorry to disappoint her, but their particular caravan had never left England. They traveled about the country performing traditional folk songs to earn the small pittance they lived upon. Occasionally, when luck was down, they were forced to take laboring jobs in the villages or on the farms. But they would not trade their nomadic life for any established home. The road was too much of a temptation. They simply could not remain faithful to one set place.

But he had a wealth of stories and superstitions to share, as did many of his comrades.

Among other things, Lizzy learned that setting your boots crosswise before going to bed guarded against cramp, it was wise to carry a mole's foot around for general protection, and an adder's slough or a bit of mountain ash was sure to bring good luck. She took a particular interest when Besnik explained how to dispose of enemies.

"In order to hurt an enemy," he said, shaping the air with his hands, "you only have to stick some pins in a red handkerchief and burn it."

"That's too easy!" Lizzy exclaimed, with a look of mock indignation.

Besnik held his shoulders up, as much to say, "I'm sorry."

He continued, explaining that the pitching of one's tent near a holly tree was a sign of divine protection, one crow meant sorrow, two crows together meant joy, and a black cat across your trail actually symbolized _good _luck.

They continued on in this fashion for some time, with many of Besnik's comrades clamoring to add own legends and superstitions that he had forgotten. At last, however, he held up his hands, quieting everyone.

"I think we have had enough of _that_, now. Perhaps it is time for a story."

Elizabeth, who adored stories altogether, nodded her brown head vigorously to a chorus of agreement.

"Shall I tell you the story, then?" he asked, "of the King of England and his three sons?"

He paused a moment, cleared his throat, and began…

* * *

In the midst of the storytelling, Darcy felt a small hand slip through his, leading him away from the group. The others, preoccupied as they were, failed to notice his absence. He was pulled into the shadow of a nearby tent, where he discovered the hand belonged to Nadya.

"Don't be alarmed," she said, noticing his evident discomfort, "I only thought that, perhaps, I might read your fortune? You see, Besnik has told me much of you and Elizabeth, and I have taken particular interest in you both." Darcy observed her sharp eyes weighing his actions and expressions. "I know that you are on the brink of many troubling decisions, and I only helped to make things clearer for you."

Biting back his sarcasm, Darcy resisted inquiring how fortune-telling could make anything clearer. In the magic of the night, however, most of his reservations were erased.

Taking his silence as acceptance, Nadya removed a stack of what appeared to be playing cards from her pocket.

She glanced over to the fire, her eyes falling upon Lizzy. "Enchanting girl," she said, as she placed the stack upon the table. "Yet there is something sad about the eyes, if you look closely. Don't you think?"

Darcy followed her gaze to its object, puzzled. But Nadya's warm fingers were upon his arm again, placing the deck of cards into his hands. He turned them over, noting the curious illustrations. So _these _were tarot cards.

"Shuffle them, please," Nadya requested. She kept her eyes focused on his face, catching each small movement of his eyes, his lips. "You seem skeptical," she said, as he bridged the cards between his hands, "but, I assure you, this is no mere parlor trick." She leaned over and tapped his forehead. "It's what's in there," she said, "the cards will tell you." Her finger fell to his heart. Returning to her chair, she took the cards from him, drawing five from the pile. With a fluid motion of the wrist, she arranged in them in the pattern of a star. Darcy gazed down at the shape, more than a little perplexed. Taking his hand, she placed it over one of the cards. "Draw," she said simply, her attention fixed. He turned the card over and Nadya smiled, her expression knowing.

"Each of these five cards," she said, "represents something, as you well know. The first card you draw represents what you _can _see." That being said, she looked down upon the card. "This is the empress."

Darcy followed her gaze. The woman on the card was portrayed as pregnant, a crown of stars upon her head. She reclined on a throne situated in the midst of a field of grain, a scepter in her hand.

Nadya was tapping her chin. "I am curious," she said, guiding his hand to the third card, "usually, it is wise to follow order. But I would like you to draw that card, please…"

He did as instructed, flipping the card to observe the image of a man suspended by one foot from a wooden beam. Nadya placed it within his hand, her eyes focused upon his face. "The hanged man," she said, with a little sigh of success, "just as I thought."

"What does it mean, then?" he asked.

"The empress is the object of desire," she said, taking the card within her hands and holding it over the light of the low candle that burned between them, "the hanged man," she said, drawing the two cards together, "is the one who desires. This can lead to great happiness…or great misery. _Attachment_," she whispered, "can lead to death, whether metaphorically or otherwise. The empress either gives or she takes. But never both. She is always fickle."

Darcy felt suddenly uncomfortable.

"The hanged man is often a willing sacrifice," she said. "He is a hero so committed to the adventure that he is willing to die for it. He is willing to make a personal loss for the greater good." She removed the card bearing the emblem of the empress from the candlelight and placed it beside the card of the hanged man, Darcy having placed it once more upon the wooden planking of the table. "When the hanged man is drawn together with the empress, it usually symbolizes destructive longing."

"The empress," she murmured, unwilling to offend, "is what you see now. The hanged man is what you _can _change."

Darcy drew the parallels in his mind…it was unnerving to think about.

Nadya led him to the second card. "What you _cannot _see," she said, as he turned it over, "is the fool."

"And what does the fool symbolize?" he asked, observing the whimsical figure perched upon the edge of a cliff.

"The fool is the hero," Nadya said, "the spirit in search of experience. He embodies mystical cleverness without logic; with childlike ease, he can tune into the inner workings of this world. Yet, though he seems to possess everything he needs, he fails to realize that he is about to walk off the edge of a cliff…"

Again, Darcy blocked the parallels from his mind. This was all too…

"The fourth card," Nadya said, pointing, "involves something you _cannot _change."

Darcy flipped the card. Cold fingers twisted his insides as he gazed down upon the illustration. Blazoned upon the paper was the image of a skeleton upon a white horse, surrounded by the dead and dying.

Nadya placed her hand above his. "It is not always as you think," she said, noting the distress it appeared to cause him. "It is unlikely this card symbolizes a physical death. It is emblematic, rather, of the end of relationship or interest." Her eyes flickered to Lizzy before returning to the table. "Again, this is something you _cannot _change."

The fifth and final card lay unturned between them. "Whenever you are ready," Nadya said gently. Darcy nodded. Dragging the card to the edge of the table so that he might have a better grip of its edge, he slowly revealed the other side.

"The lovers," Nadya said, her voice hinting of prior knowledge. It seemed her suppositions had been correct.

"You can expect the lovers," Nadya said, pushing the card to him. "The card represents relationships and choices. Often, one must choose between two paths. One potential partner may be chosen while another is turned down. But remember," she said, "these choices have lasting consequences."

Darcy placed a hand to this forehead, a wave of great confusion sweeping over him.

"The lovers are also a reminder that we need other people to become fully human. They teach us, expanding our minds. Each can kill us. Each can break our hearts."

"And that is my future?" he asked, attempting to laugh. Nadya, no trace of a smile upon her lips, nodded. "Your past…your present…your future," she murmured, drawing the cards back into her pile.

"Well…" he said.

Nadya placed the cards face-down upon the table, then turned to face him. "But you have no need of a crystal ball or a pack of tarot cards or even the palm of your hand to tell you your future," she said, "it's sitting right there," and she nodded to Elizabeth, who was dancing with Besnick, kicking her feet high into the air, her face illuminated with happiness. "So often do we ignore what is easiest to see."

Darcy shook his head. "You don't understand…"

But Nadya was standing, her eyes large and luminous in the moonlight that spilled through the thin hangings. Darcy, looking up into their endless depths, thought suddenly that she was older that she appeared, that her young body was a deception, a ruse.

"Choose carefully," she murmured, and, with a whirl of her wine-colored skirt, she was gone. Left in the shadow of the tent, the stars burning brightly above him, Darcy attempted to regain his composure. Why this should so disturb him was perplexing. Tarot reading was not grounded in logic or reason…if his Cambridge duns should see him, gone liver-witted over a pack of playing cards!

Yet, he remained seated for some time…feeling a sense of weightlessness, as if time itself had paused. He caught the light of Lizzy's face…and Nadya's words like unwelcome guests kept intruding upon this thoughts.

One thought remained as he rose to return to the fire. He must stick to the course. It was his duty as a man. He had, as the saying went, made his bed…and it was time to lay down upon it.

But no matter how earnestly he attempted to plug the holes within his thoughts, conflict seeped, once more, into his mind.

* * *

Lizzy whirled to greet Darcy upon his return, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. "Where have you been?" she demanded, pulling at his sleeve.

He shook his head. "Nadya read my fortune."

"And are you to be enormously rich and happy, then?" she asked.

"No, nothing of that nature."

She was going to inquire further, but Tamas, a young, handsome youth, had swung her once more into the dance, and she was gone. Darcy lowered himself onto the ground and watched her, attempting to quell flames of irritation. This was a night of joy, of abandonment of reason. He had no right to be upset.

A young gypsy girl shyly approached him, her hands hand imploringly forward. Unwilling to embarrass her, Darcy took them within his own and attempted to lead her off. Yet this was a strange, foreign form of dancing. There were no neat, symmetrical lines to be followed, no mincing or bowing, no elaborate turns or complicated steps. The wild, passionate beat of the music was intoxicating, and the dancers kicked up their heels to the heavens and flung back their heads. There was no sense of inhibition here. The drafty drawing rooms of London and Meryton and Lambton seemed to exist in some other world altogether. What need had they for the rafters and floors of grand manors? They had stars above their heads and the diamond-dewed grass at their feet. _Here _was happiness.

He was flung into the arms of Lizzy, who was laughing wildly, her hair curling in all directions, breaking free from its bun. "I have never," she said, between gasps, "had quite so much fun! _This _is dancing!"

She twirled away from him, then returned. She was glowing. The light flashed off the surface of her cerulean eyes, and sparkled as the waters of the ocean might when struck by a passing bolt of light. Her lips were parted; she seemed almost to say something to him, then stopped herself. There were no words for it, this ecstasy of experience. Diving past the restrictions and inhibitions of the world in which they lived, they found the true marrow of life itself, which seemed to manifest itself in this joyous summer evening.

How long she remained in his arms he knew not. Time itself had curled away, leaving them to their own devices. The two sworn enemies of dancing were, in fact, twirling their way about the fire as if, like Hermes, they had wings attached to their feet.

"I shall never forget this, Darcy," she whispered over the roar of the music, "as long as I live. When I am most unhappy, when I feel everything on this earth conspires against me, I shall close my eyes and return to this night, this night where I was most, unutterably, inexpressibly happy." And, as the music came to a slow stop, she burrowed her head into his chest, as much a mark of affection as gratitude. He did not know what to say. Words failed him; they were inadequate.

____

She walks in Beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.  
One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impaired the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er her face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.  
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,  
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,  
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,  
But tell of days in goodness spent,  
A mind at peace with all below,  
A heart whose love is innocent!

He could not help himself. The lines from Byron seemed ascribed to her very being, as if the poet himself had taken Elizabeth Bennet as his inspiration. That was ridiculous, of course, but on this night of all nights, it seemed suddenly appropriate to feel as he did, this warm swelling within his heart, growing fresh and tender as a young spring bud.

* * *

It was well passed two in the morning, yet Darcy and Elizabeth were still reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire…and assembled company.

"How long will you be staying?" Lizzy asked Besnik, stifling a yawn.

He smiled, pleased at her interest. "Until the end of summer, at least. We like it here in Hertfordshire. It's rather beautiful country."

"You must see Derbyshire," Darcy said, "that is where I hail from."

"Derbyshire is very lovely," Lizzy agreed.

Besnik, exchanging glances with a few of the musicians who had been playing earlier, asked Lizzy if she sang. She laughed a little, opened her mouth, and emitted an ear-splitting high C.

"But I am very fond of music," she said, as the group recovered. "Darcy sings, though. Rather well."

Darcy, suddenly the object of twenty or so pairs of eyes, shook his head. "I don't sing unless upon pain of death," he said.

Laughing, Lizzy took Besnik's knife from its sheath at its side, crossed quickly to Darcy's side, and held the point of the blade an inch from his throat. "Sing," she demanded, drawing her face into a frown. "Sing for your life!"

He rolled his eyes. Before she could blink, Darcy had secured the weapon from her hand and pulled her down beside him, a restraining arm wrapped about her waist. "I don't sing," he repeated.

"Oh, come, come," said Besnik, whose curiosity had been piqued, "you are among friends."

Darcy sighed. "Very well, then."

"Begin, and we shall attempt to follow the tune."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then…

__

Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole,  
n'aria serena doppo na tempesta!  
Pe' ll'aria fresca pare già na festa...  
Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole.

Ma n'atu sole  
cchiù bello, oje ne'.  
O sole mio  
sta 'nfronte a te!

_O sole  
O sole mio  
sta 'nfronte a te!_

_Quanno fa notte e 'o sole se ne scenne,  
me vene quase 'na malincunia;  
sotto 'a fenesta toia restarria  
quanno fa notte e 'o sole se ne scenne._

_Ma n'atu sole  
cchiù bello, oje ne'.  
O sole mio_

_sta 'nfronte a te!  
O sole  
O sole mio  
sta 'nfronte a te!  
sta 'nfronte a te!_

The gypsies clapped, their expressive faces beaming. Talented musicians themselves, their approbation was perhaps the highest honor any singer could hope to receive.

"We must have it again, in English," Besnik said. "I think I've caught the tune well enough." He turned to the men and women who held instruments in their hands. They nodded in turn.

_What a beautiful thing is a sunny day, _

_The air is serene after a storm _

_The air's so fresh that it already feels like a celebration _

_What a beautiful thing is a sunny day. _

Darcy began. Besnik began to play his guitar, his fingers deftly moving over the strings. Quickly, his fellow musicians joined. They had certainly caught the melody, Lizzy observed. She turned her attention to Darcy…

_But another sun, _

_that's brighter still _

_It's my own sun _

_that's upon your face! _

_The sun, my own sun _

_It's upon your face! _

_It's upon your face! _

His voice was rich and dark, yet gentle.

"Serenade her!" Besnik cried, "serenade Elizabeth! It is, after all, her birthday."

Darcy continued, unsure what serenading entailed. He half-turned to Lizzy, addressing the next verse to her.

_When night comes and the sun has gone down, _

_I almost start feeling melancholy; _

_I'd stay below your window _

_When night comes and the sun has gone down. _

"You must take her hands!" Besnik shouted encouragingly, pushing Darcy towards her. Obeying, he gathered her brown paws within his own. She laughed, her eyes twinkling with merriment. The group of gypsies clapped loudly. "Sing louder!" Besnik demanded, strumming his guitar. Darcy obliged, raising his voice. Deep and sonorous, his voice was a perfect complement to the night. Elizabeth had never heard him sing so beautifully before. Enraptured by the song itself, she felt a curious light-headedness, as if she were reclining, not on a knotted log, but on a cloud high above…

_But another sun, _

_that's brighter still _

_It's my own sun _

_that's upon your face! _

_The sun, my own sun _

_It's upon your face! _

_It's upon your face! _

They all sang the refrain. However much they botched the language, they managed to get the melody right. Lizzy herself, drunk from the headiness of the music, did not want the song to end. But the final note was inevitable, no matter how long Darcy held it…

The gypsies applauded with gusto, their dark faces creased with approval. Were her own hands still not enclosed, Lizzy would have joined in the clapping. She satisfied herself, instead, with cries of, "Encore! Encore!"

But Darcy, noting the position of the moon and the paling eastern darkness, shook his head. "I hate to leave such excellent company," he said, "but I think it is time I returned you to Longbourne."

Lizzy sighed. "I haven't the energy to argue," she said. Turning to Besnik and the rest of the company, she thanked them whole-heartedly. "I've never enjoyed myself quite so much," she informed them.

"Return whenever you'd like," Besnik said, "we are always available. Remember, we shall be here until the end of the summer."

She nodded. "You will probably regret extending an open invitation. I assure you, I will wear it out. Soon, you will be quite tired of seeing my face."

They stood, shaking weariness from their limbs. Allowing Lizzy her good-byes, Darcy edged to the fire to relight the lantern. Nadya met him, her fathomless eyes full upon his face. "Remember," she murmured to him, above the flame, "remember…"

* * *

Attributions and Inconsistencies: _O Sole Mio_, the song Darcy serenades Lizzy with, wasn't written until 1898...but I think it's a beautiful song and fit the whole sun/moon theme I was trying to go with…if you're interested in listening to a recording, go to YouTube and try "The Three Tenors" and "O Sole Mio." Their version is beautiful. I found both the original Neapolitan Italian lyrics and the English translation on, of course, Wikipedia.

She Walks in Beauty was, of course, written by Lord Byron. I believe I mentioned that in the actual story. What else…I pulled Nadya's tarot-reading explanations straight from Wikipedia (one of the seven wonders of the worldwide web). It's actually pretty interesting…Can you guess Darcy's fortune? I think I made it pretty ambiguous…though the representations are quite obvious. I found all the gypsy superstitions, etc. on another website…I'm not sure of the name now. I'll try and find it if anyone's interested.

Wow! Great feedback on the trilogy question. I understand both sides. As I have been notoriously unreliable in the past (forgive me, please), I understand reservations.

One more question. I promise, this is the last. I probably will somehow bridge this into a trilogy…but would you rather end it with Darcy and Lizzy at odds? (The Amelia problem will be solved, I assure you. She will soon be out of the picture). That's what I originally planned, but I could always tweak things. It would be easier for me to end that way in order to bridge to a third installment…thoughts on that? I know I look terribly conflicted…but I could really make it go either way with the plot. I wish I could tell you what I had in store for them…but that would be giving entirely too much away (besides, I've already told you about Amelia…)

Finally, let me make my gratitude abundantly clear. To be quite honest, I had forgotten about this story until, one night, when I was catching up on my favorite JA stories, I came across it again. After reading the reviews, I felt a sense of…warmth, I guess you could call it. The feeling that others actually _care _about what happens to these characters is, in itself, so amazing. It's a sort of bonding thing, I guess you could say. Anyway, you guys are the ones who keep this going, and I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate and take into consideration every comment I receive.


	24. News of an Alarming Nature

Short chapter…but I have returned and fully intend to finish this story by the end of this month. Much love to all my loyal readers…I was reading over your reviews…you all really encouraged me to resume this!

* * *

News of an Alarming Nature

The following morning, pandemonium unleashed itself in the Bennet household. What _began_ as a normal family breakfast erupted into chaos upon the arrival of a breathless Lady Lucas.

"My dear _Bennets_!" she exclaimed, flinging the breakfast doors wide in some attempt at a dramatic entrance, "you will not believe the news!"

Mrs. Bennet, instantly in arms, abandoned her tea and toast to fall upon her friend. "News? Oh, dear Lady Lucas, whatever could it be?"

Lizzy, still fatigued from the night's adventures, had learned from past experience to discount any of Lady Lucas's "news" and was not particularly interested. Amelia's rosebud lips formed a perfect 'o', but she was too ladylike to lose countenance; she feigned interest in the teapot whilst her sharpened ears sprung up. Mr. Bennet, sighing heavily, dived behind his newspaper. Jane turned as white as the milk in her teacup. Mary made some offhand comment about the perils of common gossip. Kitty, and Lydia, for once in their lives, could not muster a single giggle.

"It is Lady Piedmont!" she cried. At the sound of her dear friend's name, Lizzy's attention was immediately arrested.

"What of Lady Piedmont?" she demanded, flying from her chair. She pushed her mother aside (a task within itself, as Mrs. Bennet was of substantial build), to command Lady Lucas's immediate line of vision. "Well?"

Somewhat peeved by this commanding behavior, Lady Lucas begged for a saucer of tea before proceeding. "I have run near the entire way," she explained, while Elizabeth plied her with chair and biscuit. "I could not even wait for the carriage. Billings brought the news straight from the Park. There is no servant better to be trusted, I assure you, and, as he has dealings with Lady Piedmont's maid, I am quite sure of the source."

"That is all very well," Lizzy said, attempting to hide her impatience at such long-windedness. Trust Lady Lucas to attempt to build up suspense. "Now, what is the _news_?"

"Tush, child! Will you not permit an old woman her rest?"

"For Heaven's sake, ma'am, did you not run all the way from Lucas Lodge? Surely you can spare a moment's breath to tell us why you came."

Lady Lucas sighed. With more than a little pride, she said, "Lady Piedmont has disappeared."

She had played her cards well. The entire Bennet family, along with the attendant Hill, drew a collective gasp. "Disappeared?" questioned Lizzy, the first the reclaim her senses. "What do you mean _disappeared_?"

"She has not been at Haye Park these three days, and the servants know nothing of her whereabouts."

"Are you suggesting that she has been kidnapped?"

"Well…I hardly know…The very idea…"

"Excuse me," Lizzy said, running towards the door. There was not a moment to be lost.

* * *

Again...I apologize for the length. Will post more tres vitement! (Pardon my French...is that correct? I am trying to learn : )


	25. A Blaze of Inquisitorial Proportions

_A Blaze of Inquisitorial Proportions _

**Note at end.**

Lizzy had never run so fast in her life. She cleared hedges and stiles; even cut through Farmer Griegson's prized turnip patch, much to that kindly old gentleman's chagrin. She passed the sergeant on this morning walk, leapt over a stray sheep; and got a nasty gash on her forearm from a bramble that she hadn't the time to knock out of her path.

Mere minutes after Lady Lucas had made her dramatic revelation; Lizzy was scuttling up the steps of the ship and tumbling into the arms of none other than…

"Lady Piedmont!" she gasped.

The force of the collision had knocked them both to the floor.

Sir Teddy was by Lady Piedmont's side immediately, concerned. Darcy was standing by with an ironical smile, and Joe was perched on the edge of a chair, already red-faced from drink.

"But…I don't understand. You're supposed to be missing. I thought you were…I mean, you're supposed to be…kidnapped." Lizzy could not seem to get her words to come out in any proper order.

"Yes, exactly, my dear," Lady Piedmont said, very kindly for an expectant mother who has just been knocked to the ground by a harum-scarum whirlwind of a girl.

"I'm flabbergasted…puzzled…utterly perplexed," Lizzy said, letting out a whoosh of air. She refused Darcy's helping hand, preferring to remain in a heap upon the floor. "I just ran five miles to alert Sir Teddy that you were…_missing_."

"And here I am," Lady Piedmont said. There was a twinkle in her eye.

"Not missing!"

"Oh, no. I am most certainly _missing_."

"But here!"

"Yes, _here_."

"In the present moment. And I'm not seeing things? You're not a product of my imagination, some sort of trick played by my intense desire to _see_ you?"

Darcy pinched her.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Absolutely not."

"Permit me to be happy now," Lizzy said, "I think I'm finally capable of feeling relief." And she struggled to her feet and rushed to embrace Lady Piedmont, now settled on a low settee. The force and gusto of her grasp was enough to warrant Sir Teddy's intervention.

"You'll suffocate her," he said, gently extricating Lizzy's arms from his wife's neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was just _so_ worried. I thought the entire time that Wickham or Sir Arnold had poisoned you…or strangled you…or sold you into slavery..."

"A bit far-fetched, that last one," Darcy remarked dryly.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped back.

"But I still don't understand…"

"My dear, I _was_ kidnapped," Lady Piedmont explained, "by Darcy and Joe. They came for me at midnight and spirited me away to Browning Pond…to my dear Theodore."

And she smiled up into the face of the aforementioned.

"I had no idea that he was here. And, oh God! How happy I was to be reunited."

"It was all according to the plan," Joe inserted, a bit tipsily.

"The plan?"

"The very same."

"Do you mean to tell me you had a plan? A plan that you didn't bother to share with _me_?" This Lizzy directed to Darcy.

"We couldn't risk detection, and you were surrounded on all sides by sisters," Darcy said, "so you needn't look so martyred. Besides, it was too dangerous."

"Too dangerous?"

"Hold your temper, Lizzy.

"How dare you presume! Nothing is too dangerous for me! Especially if it's not too dangerous for you…and a drunkard!"

Joe looked wounded, and Lizzy quickly apologized. "I have nothing against drunkards, of course, Joe. They're highly necessary to the cultural enrichment of our great country."

"Anyway, it was rather a last minute venture. Sir Teddy was so worried about Lady Piedmont, especially in her condition, that his health was being affected. I know that we discussed allowing her ladyship to remain at Haye-Park as a spy of sorts, but, after all, we are dealing with some rather desperate characters…"

"And I couldn't bear for Olivia to remain in such a den of vipers…" Sir Teddy added.

"So, we had a message sent to Lady Piedmont…"

… "via Beatrice, my most trusted servant," Lady Piedmont added…

… "and she slipped down to us, and we brought her here, a place of safekeeping."

"And you're only just telling me?"

"We were busy," Darcy teased.

"I could roast you all in a blaze of Inquisitorial proportions!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, but that wouldn't exactly serve a purpose…"

"It would justify my anger…

"Will you settle for inclusion in the plan?"

Lizzy looked into the tense, excited faces of Sir Teddy, Lady Piedmont, Darcy, and Joe. "I thought you'd never ask," she said.

* * *

Dearest, loveliest readers,

It is y_ou_ have right to wish to roast me in a blaze of inquisitorial proportions. I wanted to make this chapter reams and reams of pages longs…but I thought I'd settle for posting it ASAP…because a reviewer had the great good sense to ask me, "Why aren't you updating?" (Thank you, TH3 R3aD3r, for that much-needed wake-up call.)

I'm not going to make excuses for myself…while, at the same time, making excuses for myself. I have not updated for over twelve months, readers! You have every right to want to roast me! But this past year has been a very, very difficult one for me. I lost someone I love very, very much last November. (I won't attempt to convey in words any more…) Basically, I have not felt like doing anything…just loafing around, sleeping, etc.

I'm sure you all heard about the tornado that hit Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Well, I attend the University of Alabama…so I was there when it happened. Fortunately, the campus was not directly impacted, but parts of Tuscaloosa are absolutely devastated.

Anyway, I just want to thank any and all of you who are still reading this. Who still care. I think I've said this before, but you, my wonderfully amazing readers, are what keep me returning to this. I shouldn't make anymore promises, but I am absolutely determined to finish this. It's been four years in the making, after all!

There isn't much more to go. Stick with me, if you can.

Also, I'm writing a novel! Well, a sort-of novel. I'm not exactly sure where it's going. If, in fact, it's going anywhere.

(I just thought I would add this…I have discovered Doctor Who! Any DW fans out there? I'm not much in to sci fi…but it's absolutely addicting! AH! I've only watched the Matt Smith seasons…but I'm going to work my way backwards…David Tennant seasons next!)

Just a "teaser" …I will give you a nice, long chapter next time…The plan ferments…Amelia packs her trousseau…and Lizzy and Darcy share a "moment"…_Spoilers_!

I LOVE MY LOYAL READERS! Truly, madly, deeply. The end.


	26. Wormholes

Chapter 26

_Wormholes _

(Author's Note at the bottom if you're interested!)

Amelia was methodically combing her hair.

"Like fairy gold," she whispered to herself, remembering her father's words. When she was a child, he had brushed it for her, allowing her to sit upon his knee before the fire…How soft and deft his hands were, almost like her mother's…almost…

The candlelight flickered, dimly illuminating her face in the mirror. She stared straight into her reflection, and yet she seemed not to see herself. She was gazing into some vast, impenetrable emptiness.

The banns had been read in church, and she had feverishly pieced together her _trousseau_, making over old gowns because she could not afford new ones. With Darcy practically a penniless beggar, there was very little she could do by way of finery. The Bennets could not afford to be generous; they had their own daughters to look after. And God knew her own father would have spent every last farthing on drink, wherever the vanguard was.

They were to be married quietly in a week's time with only the Bennets and a few select friends present. It was all happening so quickly, and yet…

There was a short rap on the door, and Mrs. Bennet, her curls done up in papers, entered with a dress over her arm. Amelia held the candle aloft to better see the gown, giving a little gasp of delight at the exquisitely embroidered fine white cotton, the gossamer sleeves, the delicate, impossibly tiny stitches.

"It is beautiful, Aunt Fanny," she exclaimed, holding a hand to her mouth.

"It was mine," Mrs. Bennet said, not a little proudly, "I was married in it. The happiest day of my life!" Her tightly-pinioned curls wobbled beneath the elaborately frilled cap. "Though some might say otherwise…" she glowered darkly in the direction of Mr. Bennet's study. "I meant it for Jane, of course, fully believing I would have seen her married by now. Is not Fate cruel? Beautiful Jane…and all those admirers!" She gazed wistfully at the gown laid across the bed. "You are my niece, though, Amelia, and very dear to my heart, almost dearer than my own girls. I mean for you to wear it."

"Aunt Fanny!"

"No, no, nonsense. My sister would have wished it, God bless her poor soul."

"You are too, too kind!"

Amelia fingered the transparent material, her cheeks glowing with sincere happiness. She had planned on wearing an old blue gown newly trimmed over. Never in her wildest imagination had she expected _this_. For a moment, she entirely forgot her difficulties. She was only an expectant bride, as pure and innocent as the white of the gown suggested.

She embraced her aunt, and Mrs. Bennet's features softened into maternal pleasure. "I owe so much to you, Aunt Fanny. Really and truly. I have not been half so deserving of your kindness."

"Nonsense, my dear. You have been a model child, a fine example. I sometimes wish that Elizabeth..."

"Did I hear my name?" Lizzy leant against the doorframe, smiling sardonically, "You know what they say, 'Talk of the Devil, and see his horns.'" She walked over to the bed, looking down at the snow-white dress. "White, reflecting all that is sacred and pure." She glanced significantly at Amelia, who was blushing very slightly and looking away at the flickering light of the candle. "Would you mind if I spoke to Amelia, Mama? It is only a small matter."

"Well, I do believe that is the first time you ever asked _my_ permission!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, "Fancy, Elizabeth Bennet asking her mother for anything!" She looked quite curious, but Elizabeth was obviously determined not to speak until she left the room. Mrs. Bennet took her time, fussing about the drapery of the dress until at last retreating, closing the door behind her. Still, Lizzy waited. She knew her mother too well not to suspect her of listening at the keyhole. It was what she would have done herself, and if she had her mother shared anything in common, it was their susceptibility to eavesdropping.

After waiting an appropriate length of time, and then going on about ribbon lengths for a few moments for added security, Lizzy finally said, "I thought I would never ask you this, Amelia Lawrence, but I need your help."

"_My_ help?"

Lizzy nodded. "_Your_ Rupert is working in league with two very nasty characters, and, though we cannot be sure what exactly is part is in the affair, I do not believe he is entirely innocent of wrong."

"He is not my Rupert," Amelia said, rather stiffly.

"Well, whatever he is, he is going to be our bait. I need you to arrange a moonlit tryst. And do not turn your nose up and look so scornful. This is hardly a novel request."

"I am a lady!"

"Yes, well, I am not. That is why I am asking. You hold power over Rupert, and we need Rupert to believe he is going to meet Amelia Lawrence at Browning Pond by moonlight. No one else will know except me. I will not tell a soul that you arranged things."

"But why?"

"Lady Piedmont is in grave danger. I cannot explain more, Amelia, and I would not ask unless I were absolutely desperate. I will not beg, as we both know that I hold you in my service. But I entreat you now on moral ground. Please, Amelia. Please." Lizzy was in grave earnest, that much was apparent. Her eyes shone hard and impassioned. There was a fierce concern in her manner.

"What of Darcy?"

"He will never know."

"How can I be sure that this is not some trap? Arranged to reveal me…for what I am?" her voice wobbled; she looked genuinely pained. She gripped the back of a chair, concealing her face in the shadows.

"I would not lie to you, Amelia," Lizzy insisted, before pausing to amend, "Well, in any other case, I would not hesitate to do so…but this is a matter of life and death. It is a matter of vengeance many years in the making. It really has absolutely nothing to do with you and your paltry entanglements."

"What must you think of me?" Her cry was short and pained and sudden.

"Now is not the time for contrition, Amelia. Please. I need you to write Rupert tonight…arrange to _rendezvous_ around midnight. Geri will deliver the message."

"I have been thinking, Elizabeth…I have been doing so much thinking…"

"Now is not even the time for thinking."

Amelia crossed over to her desk and hastily dashed off a note in her elegant, infinitely ladylike hand.

The letter was in Elizabeth's hands only moments later. Amelia stood by awkwardly as Lizzy inspected its contents. "Nice and succinct. The element of mystery is very good," she said, reading it in less than two seconds. "You have a distinct talent for making assignations, Amelia Lawrence. I salute you."

Amelia began to cry.

"Oh, I really haven't time for this," Lizzy said, running downstairs to deliver the note into Geri's hands. She returned minutes later, collapsing onto the bed and just narrowly avoiding crushing her mother's dress. "Why is it that the villainess always develops feelings? I haven't the slightest desire to feel sympathy for you, and yet here you are, tugging at my heartstrings. Must you be so predictably penitent? And why now? Cold feet, Amelia?"

"I am a cold-hearted…an evil…a sinful…"

"Oh, please. No use in self-accusation. You made a mistake, that's all. A very stupid mistake. And mistakes are usually rectified. Trust me; I've made more than my fair share."

Amelia crossed over to her cousin and slapped her once across the cheek. "I am with child, Elizabeth. This is hardly a rectifiable mistake."

Lizzy held a hand to her stinging cheek. "And I suppose you decided to channel your emotions through violence? Now, _there_ is the Amelia I know and love."

"You do not understand, do you? Ignorant child!"

"First tears, now curses. Lovely. And I absolutely understand the meaning of 'with child.' I am _not_ a child."

Amelia burst into fresh tears, making little sobbing noises in the back of her throat.

Lizzy exhaled, uncertain of what to do. "I assume that the father of your child is none other than the Rupert you dispatched the note to. And now you are racked with guilt over marrying Darcy, the gullible, ever-so-good Darcy."

"Why do you taunt me?"

"I am not taunting you; I am merely stating the facts of the case."

"Well, then, if you know so much, tell me what I am to do?"

"Oh, I have little experience in this particular field. I know a much better candidate." And Lizzy waltzed over to the window, opening it and calling down, "Ready, Joe?"

There was a muted reply; she leant far over the sill, pulling in a grizzled, portly man with a very red face. Joe Lawrence was not so much flushed from drink as from embarrassment. This was the first time in many years that he had seen his daughter.

"Papa!"

"Little Amelia!"

There was a protracted pause. Perhaps the long-absent father expected her to rush into his arms and, sobbing, beat tiny fists in a harmless staccato against his chest. He held his arms out, smiling shyly and still blushing like a schoolboy.

"It has been so long, my little angel," he said, avoiding her eyes, "I've missed you so, so very much." That was added for effect – it was what he felt he was expected to say. In truth, he had not really missed her that terribly. Although he truly loved his daughter, he found her something of a trial...and a little too like his late lamented wife in her constant carping over drink and the company he kept...

Amelia certainly _did_ rush at him…but only to push him out the window with a most unnatural snarl. "Go to _hell_."

"Oh, dear. Amelia, you are full of surprises this evening," Lizzy said. "Fortunately, there is a hedge. Alive down there, Joe?" she called through the window. There was a muffled reply, and the sound of branches snapping. "I can't say you didn't have it coming, sir, though I am sorry. I did not think Amelia capable of such…" She looked her cousin over… "well, _joie de vivre_, shall we say for euphemistic purposes. Come along, then." And she helped to hoist him back into the window. This time, he edged cautiously into the room, ensuring his feet were both firmly planted on the floor before he attempted any sort of conversation.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Lizzy said, positioning herself beside the casement, "I would stay for this heartwarming reunion, but I am afraid that I have a little trysting to do. Musn't keep my swain waiting. And try not to push him out of any more windows, Amelia – at least until you've let him explain himself. Fair trial and all. We will discuss matters later."

With that, she leapt nimbly through the window. Amelia and Joe watched her lithe, shadowy figure dart across the moon-drenched lawn. And then she was gone.

* * *

Rupert stood on the banks of Browning Pond, just within view of that "demmed ape-leading chit's ship…that little scrap…that hoyden…" He stamped the ground for effect, grinding his teeth together and attempting to make the most of his limited vocabulary. He was still unsure of Amelia's reasons for such a vulnerable trysting spot – they usually met in an abandoned cottage deep in the heart of the forest…

Rupert was actually quite frightened of the dark. He did not have any particular appreciation for the natural world and did not like the loud suddenness of bird calls, the snap of twigs beneath the paws of unseen creatures, the unknowable, intrusive darkness…It did not suit him at all, and Amelia knew this. He would have to give her a stern talking-to, he decided…

As he stood awaiting his inamorata, he remembered overhearing one of "that demmed bluestocking's" stories, the tale of the Giant Worm that lived in the Hertfordshire forests. It was during one of her visits to Haye-Park that Lizzy had related the myth…

_There was once a rather nasty sort of fellow – a far from decent chap called Reginald Pattimoore. He was a rather fine dandy and considered himself among London's beau monde, even claiming to take up with the legendary Buck himself. But one day he was forced to leave London for his estate in the Hertfordshire countryside. As he rode past the forest, he heard the mellifluous gurgle of a nearby stream and decided to refresh himself. He tethered his horse (Millicent, called Millie) to a tree and entered the dark, shadowy umbrage…He scooped handful after handful of water, splashing his face…until, quite inadvertently; he scooped up a small eellike creature no larger than his thumb. There were nine tiny holes on each side of this singular creature's head. No being particularly perspicacious, Reginald threw the "Thing" down an abandoned well nearby and, being Reginald, forgot entirely about it. Well, many years later - after he had miraculously managed to find some dolt idiotic enough to marry him - Reginald returned to his estate in the countryside to present his lovely new bride and allow her to roam the decrepit, crumbling old manor and catalog all the silver. Reginald was never one for visiting his dependents, and, as he had little interest in his estate other than the profits it added to his colfers, he never inquired much about the surrounding area. If he had, he might have been rather alarmed to hear of the unexplained disappearance of several herds of livestock…and, furthermore, the strange reports of a giant worm terrorizing the countryside. But, being Reginald, he was entirely oblivious. One day, as he and his new wife were rattling about the grounds in their new phaeton, Reginald past the little babbling brook where he had once caught that "Thing" so many years ago…As he whipped the horses onward, he was startled to see an obstruction in the distance…and blocking __**his**__ lane, of all things! This was not to be borne. They were flying now at a clapping speed – Mrs. Reginald Pattimore had to clasp her darling French bonnet to her head to keep it secure – but as they approached, the object grew bigger and bigger and bigger…until…Reginald abruptly pulled in the reins, and the horses skidded to the halt in front of – what else? – a giant worm. And now just a giant worm…but Reginald's "Thing" which had grown in the dank waters of the abandoned well into a mammoth, twenty-foot long monster. With its sizeable bulk and its horned tail and its eighteen eyes and its razor-sharp teeth, this was certainly no ordinary worm…And it towered above Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Pattimore, glowering, an enormous lamprey. _

Unbeknownst to Lizzy and the exited gaggle of children who had gathered open-mouthed around her skirts, Rupert, too, had been fixed to every word of her narrative. When she paused to draw breath (and allow for an appropriate suspenseful pause), he turned from his "conversation" with Lady Piedmont to demand, "What happened?"

_They were eaten, of course. Reginald was never one for heroics, and Mrs. Reginald was too concerned about her bonnet to allow for personal defense…They were swallowed whole…But, thankfully for the villagers and their various assorted livestock, the worm grew so sick (it was not a particularly salubrious choice to eat such noxious people, and the poor Thing had severe bilious difficulties afterwards) that it retreated to the woods…where still it lives, lying in wait for any wanderers…_

The story had remained with Rupert, who had an immense susceptibility to such fanciful yarns. They had frightened him as children; they frightened him as an adult. (Only now he had no mother's lap to run to…no familiar skirts to bury his face into…)

So he stood by the banks of Browning Pond, in the thick, oppressive darkness of the trees…the forest rising menacingly above him. He thought of the Worm. And he began to shiver…

But what was _that_? There, in the trees, he could just make out _Something_. (Of course, Rupert had been making out _Something_ since her first entered the woods.) He told himself he would not cry out, "Who's there?" That was infinitely stupid, however tempting would be the reassurance of his own voice. A slight wind made the branches dance, the waters of Browning Pond ripple. The moon was low and swollen, a bright, unnatural orange.

He could distinctly here the crunch of leaves – not the small, periodic snapping of a few twigs but a military pattern, a stomping. Something wicked this way was coming! He could feel it in the air. He wanted desperately to run, and yet he was so paralyzed by fear that he could not move.

When it came, he could scarce believe his eyes. Its massive face loomed – the snout wide and snarling, set with dagger like fangs, the eyes slanted and pitiless…and behind, unknowably long, stretched its length…slithering forward, undulating…

"Oh, God! Oh, God, please, have mercy!" Rupert cried, stumbling backwards. "Oh, please…" The Thing was approaching rapidly; he covered his face with his arms, wailing loudly. "Oh, Mummy, mummy!" And then he had fallen backwards into the water with an enormous plunking splash…He tried desperately to swim to the other shore, but he was too overcome with the intensity of his surprise, his horror…and his breeches were not fashioned for anything other than showing off his admirable legs…He could not bring himself to look at it; he peered at its massive face through the cracks in his fingers, and that was enough.

He closed his eyes and prayed – earnestly, sincerely – perhaps for the first time in his life. He expected to be crushed in the jaws of a massive worm. What he did _not_ expect was to be blindfolded…his hands bound…and then, to be jerked along by a rope…in the wake of the monster.

I thought that would be a good stopping point.

* * *

Just wanted to say – from the bottom of my heart- thank you. For your words of encouragement, hope…You are so wonderful, Readers. Truly.

As for Dr. Who…I have finished Season 2 with David Tennant. Love him! (Although, I must admit to a rather large crush on Matt Smith! I absolutely adore his wardrobe…the suspenders…the tweed jackets with elbow patches. And, of course, bow ties are cool! Also, another long tangent, I obviously didn't really care for the name Amelia because I named my villainess Amelia. But after watching Amelia Pond…I now rather love the name. I like it spelt better as Emilia, though.) I guess you could say the "Worm" is my little tribute to Dr. Who…(inspiration from the Lambton Worm…read about it at Wikipedia!)

Okay, I would write more but I am about to go and get a much-needed haircut.

Love you all,

Lady Susan


	27. A Twist of Fate

_A Twist of Fate_

Rupert awoke to find himself in darkness. He had fainted away mere moments after being blindfolded and remembered nothing more than the glowing red eyes of the Worm. Dear God! He clawed at the air, certain that he was still blindfolded. But by a chink of moonlight, he could see his hands - still bound - stretched out before him. A gasp escaped him. He could see that he was in some sort of small, dark enclosure.

"Poor little daisy." A Voice from one of the corners. Rupert trembled. He had believed himself alone. "Swooning away like that. You needn't have bothered. We are all quite friendly. Highwayman's honour."

Silence persisted. He could not find the courage to speak.

"Who are you?' is the customary demand. Shall I make it for you? Are you not in the least bit curious who has abducted you?" He could not pick any out any recognizable person. That a woman was speaking he guessed, but it was a voice he had never heard before. He had not the wits about him to guess that the voice was disguised. "I am supposed to be your guard, you know." Suddenly, there was light. A lantern was thrust towards his face, and in its golden halo of illumination, he could see a grotesque face. He screamed manically, scuttling away like a blind crab. He met the wall with a heavy thud, and a shower of dirt fell upon his head.

"Close quarters," his cheery guard said. "But rather cosy, do not you think? There is nothing so comfortable as a root cellar."

That face! But it was only a mask. He could see that now, a carved Venetian mask surmounted by a fool's cap with little dangling bells. The other figure wore an ivory-white mask with a long curving nose.

"Aren't they beautiful?" the fool inquired blithely. "I think it is so infinitely preferable to my own actual face."

"That is quite enough," the bird's beak remonstrated. Rupert could not keep from trembling. He looked down again at his slender white wrists only to find them still bound, the tender skin red and chafed from the rough rope.

"Oh, dear. I am ruining the atmosphere."

"It is generally a good idea not to become too chatty with one's prisoners," the bird's beak advised.

"And what would _you_ know about _that_?" the fool cried in something like mock outrage, "When have you ever taken someone prisoner?" There was no answer. "Have I shamed you into silence? Because I distinctly remember two occasions on which I had you at my mercy…"

"Oh, do be quiet!"

"Yes, well. I suppose I am distracting us both from the prisoner at hand."

"Please," Rupert finally managed to choke out, "I…I…I…"

"Oh, yes, and the ayes have it, do they not? What a little pigeon, cooing away. I almost feel sorry for you."

The doors above were thrown open. Rupert was afforded a brief glimpse into a darkness peppered with stars before the shadows of masked figures loomed over him. The doors closed with a heavy thud as the figures descended stone steps. The cellar was cramped, and yet they all managed to form a half-circle about him – five figures robed and masked. He clutched at his heart in agony, the white chill of horror flooding his body.

"Please," he managed again, "I will give you whatever you ask. I have money."

"Oh, but doesn't everyone?" the fool teased. "It is not such a hard thing to come by or so I have heard. Now, don't be such a disappointing hostage, Rupert, dearest."

How on earth did it know his name?

A figure wearing a mask like the moon spoke, his voice deep and authoritarian. "We are the most sacred Brotherhood…"

"Ahem!" The fool interrupted perfunctorily, shaking her head so that her bells pealed merrily, "That is _not_ what we agreed upon…"

"We are the most sacred _Order_," the Moon began again, not without a touch of irony, "of the Worm."

"Oh dear God!" Rupert exclaimed, breathing heavily.

"You have trespassed upon the lands of our Master and, in so doing, forfeited your life."

"I do think he might go into another swoon," the fool said, "Do be gentle with him."

"As such, you have one of two choices. You may either prepare to die a most painful death…"

"I would not recommend that one," the fool whispered.

"…or you may be conscripted into eternal fealty to the mighty and munificent Worm."

"_Répétez, s'il-vous plait_," the fool advised, "I think that he stopped listening after _a most painful death_." And so he had indeed.

"I will take it for granted that you wish the second alternative. Very good. Let it be known that to break any oath to the Worm is to wish upon yourself a most exquisitely tortuous demise. The Worm being a Being most powerful, It will know at once of any disloyalty. Do not think that you can outmaneuver such a One."

"What must I do?" Rupert asked, still trembling violently. "Please, tell me. I will do anything. _Anything_."

"In order to spare your own life, you must sacrifice that of another. The Worm is voracious in his appetites, and he has not had a good meal since Reginald Pattimore and his French-bonneted wife. Thus, tomorrow evening, at the stroke of midnight, you must bring a brace of good, stout men to the old cemetery."

Rupert nodded vigorously, without a moment of hesitation. "Of course. Certainly."

"Well, not a scruple in his wee little body," the fool cried delightedly, "how darling."

All dignity gone, Rupert did not care to quibble. Honour and virtue were nothing to him.

"A very Falstaffian stance, I believe," the fool continued. "'_What is honour? A word… What is in that word honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning_! And a trim fellow, too! It is a good thing that we are not going to sacrifice him to the Worm. Why, he is no more than a weed himself. I do hope that his friends are of Falstaffian dimensions."

"Now is no time for Shakespeare," the bird's beak said.

"There is always and inevitably time for Shakespeare," the fool corrected.

"Is your task clearly understood?" the Moon questioned.

"Yes, yes," Rupert insisted emphatically, "Yes, I perfectly understand. I will comply utterly, utterly!"

"And you will find good, stout men? Of generous dimensions?"

"Yes! I know two such men. They will suit…" he could not bring himself to say the worm… "They will suit…It…perfectly. Wonderfully well. Delicious men, I assure you! Delicious!"

"Oh, I think I should disagree with you there," the fool said. "I think they are probably all rotten to the very heart's core. But we shall see."

"And now, if you please, you shall be escorted to the edge of the most reverend Worm's premises…"

"And you are not to step one pretty little toe into his demesnes ever again!" the fool added.

"Yes, yes, of course," Rupert agreed, nodding vigorously. He was so eager to be free that he was willing to agree to anything.

"Very well." The man in the moon mask gestured towards a shorter, stouter figure. "The Worm will be waiting. And It is not patient."

"Are we really to let him go so easily?" the fool asked, "why, he has not been here more than a quarter of an hour. Are we to have no fun with him?"

"Really, must you go about ruining the general solemnity of our interview?" the bird's beak hissed.

"Oh, very well."

Much to Rupert's relief, he was ushered out of the root cellar by the stouter man…without any more of the fool's "fun." Deposited just within the grounds of Haye-Park, he was un-blindfolded and untied. The stout man, wearing a mask speckled with gold, vigorously shook his hand, patted his arm, and asked if he had any spirits about him. Hastily fumbling about his coat, Rupert managed to find his flagon of whisky. He thrust it into the eager hands of the stout man and, without glancing back, took off at a flying pace.

* * *

Lizzy and Darcy walked back together in the moonlight.

"I think that was an excellent night's work," Lizzy said, smiling absently. She dangled the fool's mask from its silken ribbon.

"Do you know, it was rather," Darcy mused.

The moon, high and clear in a blue-back sky, cast a milky pathway through the meadows. All was silent, still and dreaming.

"I just cannot believe…" Lizzy began but stopped herself abruptly. She had been going to say, "That Amelia would take up with such a ninny." Disastrous! Catastrophic! And yet how she longed to tell him!

Darcy did not press her to finish the sentence. He only took her hand and swung it loosely. How many moonlit walks they had had! It was a night for nostalgia. With the wedding approaching and all that it represented, he could not help attempting to review his life thus far - the events that had shaped him into what he was presently. The girl who like a guiding star had so inevitably enmeshed herself…

"Is it not wonderful to be alive sometimes?" Lizzy asked, sensing the nature of his thoughts. "I feel it so keenly, some moments."

"I was just thinking of all the old days," he said, stirred. "What adventures we've had, Lizzy! I feel almost as if we could find the ghosts of our old selves, our shadows wandering the woods, Browning Pond, the fields and the hills. If we stand very, very still, perhaps we can hear our own echoes."

He stopped her for a moment, and they stood together in the quiet gloaming, each straining to catch at something.

"I wonder if I would approve of myself now," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Would Fitzwilliam Darcy of ten approve of Fitzwilliam Darcy of one-and-twenty?"

"I think he should think you were terribly boring and grown-up," Lizzy volunteered.

"Yes, yes. I suppose so," he said, "and what of Lizzy? Would Lizzy of eight approve of Elizabeth of sixteen?"

She pondered a moment, starring off into the sky with all its spangled stars. "Do you know…"

But he interrupted, "I think that they are one and the same. You have not changed one whit, Lizzy. If there is one thing in this ever-changing world that I can rely upon, it is that you will always stay the same. The impetuous, impish, piratical Elizabeth Bennet. The swash-buckling buccaneer Blondebeard. You will never change. You cannot."

Lizzy felt suddenly empty. Disappointment flooded every cell. He had not said the right thing. He had not said the right thing at all. And for the first time in her life, she questioned whether he really knew her at all. "I wish you would believe me capable of change," she said sharply, "I am not a static character, Darcy."

"I never said you were anything of the sort, Lizzy. You are the most dynamic person that I have ever known." He was serious, his face earnest in the moonlight. They walked on.

"Then why do you continue to treat me as though I am incapable of understanding anything serious?"

"Because you make a joke of everything."

"If I did not laugh, I would weep," she cried, anxious to convey something. "Life is terrible so I must make it bearable somehow. We can be serious when we are dead." The bitterness was undeniable and all the more startling for its seeming uncharacteristicness. Again, he stopped her. She would not look at him, fidgeting under his steady gaze.

"When did you become so sour, Lizzy?" he asked.

"I am pickling. I am growing old."

"But that impossible!"

"What? Me growing old? We all do, Darcy. Age is inevitable."

"I simply cannot see it."

"You are blind, then." She walked a little ahead, striking at the feathery tops of the grasses.

"Lizzy…what is this?" He asked, striding to keep pace.

She would not answer him but kept her face resolutely averted.

"Have I said something? You must tell me, Elizabeth."

Out of sheer perversity, she kept quiet. Dammed within her soul she kept a swirling torrent of words, and yet she could say nothing. She could not say what she wanted. It was unspeakable, and he would not understand. It was difficult, this separation, but she could see that it would be necessary. He would be Amelia's now, and she had no more right to him.

"Is it the marriage, then? Is that what so upsets you? I thought you had become reconciled to it?" He was somehow wild. There was desperateness in his longing for her approval.

"So you will be married," she said, in a high, unnatural voice.

"Yes, I thought you knew."

"There is no need for sarcasm, Darcy. You are intruding into my territory."

"You do not own sarcasm exclusively, Elizabeth."

"Oh, dear, we _are_ being witty. I don't feel I'm quite equal to this exchange."

"Oh, tell the truth for once, Lizzy. Do not hide behind your screen of satire."

They were very near Longbourn. Lizzy could just make out the monkey-puzzle tree. She felt frightened and very much alone, standing there with Darcy. He was suddenly strange, foreign, menacing. His otherness terrified her.

"We are so much a part of one another, Lizzy," he said, "all of those shared memories. Does this place mean the same thing to us, I wonder? Do we see the same things the same way? When I think of first coming to Longbourn…"

"Yes, you were a little prig of a boy, as I recall…"

"And you an absolute hoyden! No, Lizzy, you have not changed an inch! And I would have you stay the same way forever, whatever you say."

They had reached the old fence surrounding Farmer Gregory's precious turnips. Long years ago…Lizzy found herself flushing in the darkness. The memory glowed between them, but neither could bring themselves to speak of it.

"I suppose you can walk home from here?"

"Oh, doubtless. Unless you fear some Viking will stroll along and impinge my honour? Or that I might fall and sprain my poor little ankle?"

"At this late hour? Doubtful you see too many of them about. And I trust to your vision. It has always proven excellent."

"Until tomorrow, then?"

"Oh, yes. Plots and machinations. I do look forward to it."

Yet still they stood, each unwilling to go, neither knowing what to say.

"Oh, good night, then!" she cried suddenly, wildly, and, turning, flew away.

Darcy stood there in the darkness, feeling somehow unbearably betrayed, as though she had cheated him. But of what he did not know. "Lizzy!" he called after her. "Elizabeth!" She continued running, and he found himself following. Stumbling over an unexpected burrow, he fell. A flash of pain shot through his ankle. Crumpled, he lay heavily. The grasses stirred in the wind. He shut his eyes, willing away the pain. Then, unmistakably, he heard footsteps. A face – star-distant – rose above him.

"This is terribly ironic, you know," Lizzy said. She bent low over him, looking at his ankle. "I hope you haven't hurt yourself too badly. Because there is absolutely no way we can explain this to the others."

She helped him to a sitting position. He feebly rubbed his ankle. "Just a bad turn," he said, gingerly stretching his foot. "Just a moment, and I'll be quite alright."

He fell back into the long, sweet grasses of the meadow, and she toppled down beside him. Some naturalness was restored. She lay a safe distance away, gazing up into the sky. Dawn was nearing. The east was touched with pink.

"Still healing?"

"It really is quite fine." The pain had gone, but he did not wish to get up.

"I _am_ sorry for earlier," she said.

"For being so vinegary."

"Churlish, really. And so unexpectedly. I don't even know why. I was quite intoxicated with happiness earlier."

"Do you remember…" But he could not bring himself to remind her. It would be too strange, and they had both agreed to forget it. Never to mention it again…Silly, really. She had probably forgotten…

But of course she was recalling the exact same moment. The morning near Farmer Gregory's turnip fields when he had so suddenly kissed her. They were mere children then.

"I think I can stand now," he said. He stood, dusting the dirt from his knees, hiding a wince of pain. She leapt to her feet.

"Quite all right, then?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a mortal wound."

"A scratch, as Hamlet would say."

"Yes, a scratch."

"A twist of fate!"

"A twist of the ankle, more like."

They still stood awkwardly, neither knowing what to do.

"Did it upset you when I said that you would never change?" he asked. "I was wrong. Of course I was wrong. But I you misinterpreted, Lizzy. You didn't understand."

"How could I misunderstand?"

"I meant that what you represent will never change. Who you are, intrinsically, that will never change. Of course you have grown up. I know that you are not a child, and I am sorry if I have treated you like one. Here," he seized her hand, "let us say good-night properly." And he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

For the first time in her life, Lizzy did not know what to say. She was unable to react. She stood still as stone, blushing as fiercely as the burgeoning sunrise.

He held her hand in his, chafing it gently before releasing it. It fell stone-heavy to her side, a disappointment. They stood looking at one another, the inadequacy of the gesture settling between them. It was not enough. She felt so terribly disappointed, and yet in the sheer and utter hopelessness of this disappointment, she felt a sudden thrust of power. A wild, frenetic, inexplicable burst of fury overtook her, and, undisciplined, she cried, "But I never do things properly!" Throwing her arms about his neck, she brought her lips to his.

It was as though all time had stopped and converged at once. They were children again, running through the forest, their faces stained with blackberries. They were before the fire at Netherfield while the rain lashed the windows. They were tapping messages on the walls of the house in London. They were dancing in the gypsy-fields. He was singing _O Sole Mio_ and she was laughing. There were innumerable walks into sunrises and sunsets. All of those years streaming immeasurably into one moment.

It was everything all at once. It was perfect. It was right. The completeness of it amazed them both. They could not fathom how it had never been.

But when Lizzy at last pulled away, she could not bring herself to look at him. Her heart was screaming. She was so stunned with happiness, so enraptured, so amazed…she could do nothing but run…away into the sunrise. Away. Away. Away.

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A.N.: I owe you all immeasurable explanations. But it is late, and I wanted to post this chapter ASAP. I hope I did them justice. I owe you all so much.


	28. The Treasure of Sir Topas

_Oh, I owe you all ten million plus apologies. How can you ever forgive me? I am so hopeless. But I want to finish this at least sometime soon (as I know I've promised countless other times). What can I say but that I love you all to absolute particles! Truly and faithfully and absolutely and irrevocably. _

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_The Treasure of Sir Topas_

What happened the following day Lizzy could not say for certain. Utterly, impossibly flummoxed, she spent the entirety of morning and afternoon wandering the fields. She would not allow herself a moment's thought but only hurled herself faster, faster when she felt tempted to succumb to the temptation of reflection.

At last it was midnight.

The village snored peacefully beneath the star-speckled night. All was quiet, subdued, furled tightly within itself. Yet despite this apparent calm, a feeling of suspense pervaded – something like an in-drawn breath. The moon, unblinking, awaited some outcome. Anticipation lurked in the birdless quietude. The darkness held something.

At last, the sound of undergrowth crashing relieved the silent tension. There were tramplers in the forest. And not just any tramplers but Rupert Pettigrew in a purple frock-coat leading Sir Arnold and Wickham.

"And what in all the infernal blazes are we doing here again?" Sir Arnold demanded again, "I've damn well torn my coat to shreds." He hacked at a branch, cursing.

"Care to elucidate further?" Wickham inquired ironically, "I don't believe you have the faintest idea yourself where you're taking us."

"I know the way!" Rupert protested, stubbornly forging ahead, "and, trust me, you will be richly rewarded for your pains."

"I've had to leave a certain scullery maid to a cold bed, so I do hope you are true to your word, Pettigrew," Wickham said.

"What's all this about treasure anyway, eh? Who buries treasure in a graveyard? It might get mixed in with the bones," Sir Arnold gave a little shudder at this.

"All the more reason to bury it there," Rupert insisted. Only earlier that morning, he'd piqued the interest of both Sir Arnold and Wickham at breakfast with a casual mention of the legendary treasure of Sir Topas. Had they really never heard of it? Why, it had to be the most glorious hoard of gold in all of Hertfordshire – perhaps even the whole of England. That old crank Sir Topas, unwilling to spare so much as a farthing to his children, had the entirety of his fortune placed into a chest of twelve locks. He took the chest with him to his grave, never telling anyone of what he'd done. The entire county thought he'd died a beggar when in all actuality, he had been as rich as Midas himself. Rupert had this on confidential authority – Lizzy'd told him. And did any mangy imp know quite as much about buried treasure as that Bennet girl? He knew the exact location in the graveyard where Sir Topas was buried, but they could only go at the stroke of midnight to avoid detection.

"But what about those twelve locks?" Sir Arnold demanded, bits of scrambled egg caught in the brambles of his beard.

Rupert proudly revealed a set of twelve jangly keys. "Never mind asking where I found them," he said, "just take it on my word that these will unlock that chest of wonders."

Thus, midnight found them trekking single-file through the fields and forests, spouting oaths and curses like veritable Venetian fountains. Rupert himself was shaking beneath his plum frock-coat. He knew too well the task at hand. Though he felt not the slightest unease of his companions' fates, he was quite concerned that the Worm would forget its promise and gobble him up, too. In the midst of the certain tumultuous confusion, it was entirely possible.

The graveyard was located on the outskirts of the village. They entered through the gate. The moon was high and full, and the long gravestones cast shadows. The world was milk-pale and luminous. Rupert quaked, sweating coldly beneath his cravat. Even Sir Arnold and Wickham felt twinges of something akin to fear though neither revealed their unease.

"Let's find this chest, eh, and dig it up quick," Sir Arnold whispered. He had no intention of digging himself, only supervising.

"Just over here," Rupert said, motioning towards a lichen-covered gravestone half-eroded by time. Just beside it gaped a newly-dug grave. They all avoided this raw wound, walking far clear of it. Just ahead loomed the blackened crypts of the old gentry. Enclosed within themselves, they held shadows.

"Hurry," Sir Arnold urged, as Wickham and Rupert set their silver spades into the earth.

"You better damn well dig, too, old man," Wickham hissed. He tossed Sir Arnold a shovel, but the viscount did not catch it – instead, it skittered to the edge of the unfilled grave. They all paused, no one willing to reclaim it.

Just as Wickham took a tentative step in that direction, they heard a low moaning. Rupert began to whimper. Out of the new grave shot fire – bright, licking flames that flew high into the air popping, popping. Paralyzed, the three men could only look on in absolute horror as a series of figures began to crawl forth from the depths. Robed and fantastically masked figures began to arrange themselves in a circle around Rupert, Sir Arnold, and Wickham.

"Mercy, mercy, oh most sacred Brotherhood!" Rupert begged, falling to his knees, "It is only I, Rupert Pettigrew. I have brought you libations – the two promised men."

"What in damnation do you mean, you slippery foolscap eel?" Wickham demanded.

"Silence!" the tallest of the masked men roared. All sound stopped, even Rupert's blubbering.

"You have much to answer for, Arnold Piedmont," the tall man continued after a long pause.

"Such as?"

"Your brother's death."

The silence was deafening even in the darkness.

"His blood like that of Abel cries out from the ground."

There was an agonized shriek from within the freshly dug grave. Arnold gave a start. He began to shake. "No. No. No. I am not responsible! I did not kill my brother. I did not kill Theodore!"

"Tell the truth for once in your life, Arnold Piedmont. Tell the truth."

"Am I my brother's keeper? Am I, eh? I did not kill the bastard. I did not kill him!" Arnold was adamant but it was an adamancy born of desperation. The shrieking grew louder.

"The Dead know," the masked man said simply. All at once, there were hands. A final figure was pulling himself up from the grave. The masked figures completed the formation of their circle. They stood Druidically tall, as fixed as Stonehenge.

"Tell the truth, Arnold Piedmont. This is your final chance."

The shrieking ceased at once. Theodore Piedmont pulled himself up from the depths of the grave and stood before them. He was dressed entirely in white save his vest which was splashed with red. Blood from the bullet wound.

Arnold gave a sharp cry. "It's not possible! It's not possible! You're dead! I ordered your death! I had you killed! You are dead! Dead!"

Wickham himself was gaping. "How can it be? I shot you? I shot you dead on the spot? I saw you dead!"

"You damn liar!" Arnold said, turning to Wickham, "You told me you'd killed him. I paid you one hundred pounds, and you promised me you'd killed him. YOU LYING BASTARD!"

"I killed him! I shot him dead," Wickham kept insisting. "I did, I did! I shot him dead. I did, I did!"

Theodore began to walk closer and closer to his brother. Strikingly pale in the darkness, he seemed to glow with a faint translucence. His eyes were sad, infinitely sad. "No happy fate awaits you, brother."

"Don't come any closer!" Arnold said, scuttling back on his hands and knees. "Don't you dare touch me! You're dead! Dead! I ordered you dead!"

"And that, my friend, is exactly what I needed to hear." A torch flamed out into the night. From behind the largest of the crypts stepped the sergeant (folding up the knitting he'd brought to tide the waiting) and a host of townspeople. "You have made my job much easier," the Magistrate remarked, "accusing yourself and all."

"I don't understand," Rupert babbled, "this is the sacred Brotherhood…"

"This is most certainly _not_ a Brotherhood," the figure in the fool's mask remarked. It flung the mask aside, revealing itself to be none other than…

"Elizabeth Bennet, at your service," and Lizzy bobbed a curtsey.

The other figures began to unmask themselves. There stood Joe Lawrence and Darcy, Gerry and Betsy, Mr. Darcy and Lady Piedmont.

"But the Worm! The Worm!" Rupert gaped.

From within the folds of her cloak, Lizzy pulled forth a brilliantly coloured Chinese dragon. "Mr. Darcy collected her on his travels," she explained, placing the dragon's head over her own.

"This is an outrage! This is absolute indecency!" Sir Arnold clamored, starting to his feet. "I will not bear this travesty of justice! This besmirching of my honour as an Englishman!"

"Englishman you may be but honourable you are most certainly not," Lizzy retorted tartly, "in any sense of the word."

"I was only joking!" Sir Arnold insisted, as the sergeant seized upon him. A big burly villager took Wickham gruffly by the arm. "Do you not see how I was trapped? I did not mean a word that I said. I knew that it was only a joke – of course I've known that Theodore was alive for many years now. He wanted me to go about telling everyone…"

"Unhand me!" Wickham shouted dramatically. All at once, he'd whipped out a pistol from the pocket of his coat. He held it before him, circling rapidly and dangerously. "Back! Back! All of you, back!"

The sergeant had never faced such a weapon before. He clicked his knitting needles together and held the crossed over his face. Darcy moved instinctively toward Lizzy. The others stepped back, cowed in fear. Rupert's sputtering turned to outright sobbing. Wickham swerved the pistol to his head. "Shut up, for the love of God! Shut up that blubbering!" Darcy made an infinitesimal movement forward, and Wickham swiveled to face him.

"I knew you were an out-and-out rogue, but this…" Darcy spat out.

"Oh, you needn't do _that_," Lizzy cried exasperatedly to Darcy, who had now centered himself in front of her. She pushed at him, "We're not in the slightest particle of danger. Besides, what would Amelia do with a gun-riddled bridegroom?"

"This, said at pistol point!" Darcy exclaimed through the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed upon Wickham's.

"Oh, really!" Lizzy cried, walking towards Wickham quite confidently.

"Stop now, you blasted, pert-tongued IMP!" Wickham cried, brandishing the pistol.

"Lizzy!" cried the villagers in unison.

"How lovely," Lizzy said, skipping blithely forward, "I never envisioned my very own Greek chorus."

"Lizzy, this is madness!" Darcy cried, frantic now with worry.

But Lizzy was smirking complacently at Wickham and still steadily progressing. "Fie, thou dishonest Satan" she exclaimed in her best histrionics. "I call thee by the most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy…"

"Lizzy, I'll be damned!" cried Darcy, running forward to wrest her arm, "You quote Shakespeare at the most inconvenient times."

Lizzy struggled against his grip. "I swear, Darcy, you'll spoil everything with these unnecessary displays of gallantry. I say again, I am not in the slightest danger." She bobbed Wickham a curtsey.

"Madman, thou errest," she recited again to Wickham, "I say, there is no darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog." Wickham's hands were shaking somewhat, but he maintained his ground.

"She's casting her spells!" Rupert cried from his fetal-position on the ground. "Oh, make her stop before she conjures up some wicked specter!" He placed his hands over his ears and rocked himself.

"Wrong play," she threw over her shoulder, "You are thinking of Macbeth."

"You're mad!" Wickham cried, still hesitating. Shooting men was one thing – but here was a mere girl. He had played with her as a child. And even Wickham, villain as he was, had a conscience…

"I am no more mad than you are: make the trial of it in any constant question," Lizzy quipped neatly.

"That's enough nonsense! I'll shoot you, Elizabeth Bennet. Don't think I won't!"

"Shoot a lady, eh, Wickham? Have you sunk so low?" Darcy asked. He still had Elizabeth by the arm and had pivoted his body to shield her. They were stopped a few feet short of Wickham.

"For the thousand-and-one-hundredth time, Darcy," Lizzy scolded, again attempting to wrest her arm free of Darcy's iron-claw, "I am _not_ a lady."

Wickham cocked the pistol and attempted to shoot. There was no report. The fire bloomed, but there was no shot. He shook it – cocked it again. By this time, Darcy had entirely splayed himself over Lizzy's body. But, again and again, the pistol did not shoot.

"What have you done, infernal hell-fire minx!" Wickham demanded, opening the pistol to examine it. He dipped a finger into the gunpowder. It was strangely gritty.

"Taste it!" Lizzy urged, smiling, "it's quite sweet."

Wickham licked his finger and stuck it into the gunpowder. Touching it hesitantly to his tongue, he started. "It's sugar!" he exclaimed, nonplussed. "Sugar!"

"Induitably," Lizzy said. She held out her right hands to reveal the bullets.

"But, how…"

"I have my ways," Lizzy said, again bobbing him a curtsey. "It's alright, Sergeant!" she cried over her shoulder to the hapless Sergeant (who was dreaming desperately of being home in his snug cottage with a cup of tea, a hot buttered crumpet, and his cat). He's quite harmless."

Wickham turned to run, but he didn't make it as far as the open grave for another pop of fire went off and, startled, down he fell into the grave.

"Adieu, good man devil," said Lizzy, dusting her hands. "A good night's work, men!" She watched as Arnold and Rupert were rounded up and shackled most emphatically by the sweet-natured Sergeant (who had never before dealt in activity of his nature). A few men heaved Wickham from the grave. Miraculously, he was unhurt.

"It would have been more exciting if the gun had gone off," Lizzy said, walking back in the moonlight with the motley Brotherhood (which consisted of Sir Teddy and Lady Piedmont, Geri, Darcy, and, most surprisingly, Betsy). "But I am always one for anticlimaxes."

Sir Teddy slipped his free arm about her waist and squeezed her gently to him. "Best and brightest of all Elizabeths, I am forever indebted to you." He had confessed his identity and squared things with the Magistrate and would work out matters of estate upon the morrow.

"I like the sound of that!" Lizzy exclaimed, "The indentured servitude of a baronet! Yes, that will do very conveniently."

"Heavens! What have we gotten ourselves into?" Lady Piedmont teased.

"I've never done something quite so exciting before in my life," Betsy was whispering to Darcy. They had fallen behind the others as Betsy was a bit rheumatic these days. She had taken Darcy's arm, and he was supporting her.

"I'm glad you were there, Betsy," he replied.

"That Elizabeth – she's really something."

They both looked ahead to where Elizabeth, eyes sparkling even in the darkness, skipped blithely.

"Yes," Darcy said, somewhat abstractedly. "Yes, she certainly is."


	29. A Routine Malaise

Chapter 29

A Routine Malaise

A.N. I know the chapter title is a total anachronistic allusion. But I like it, and it fits. Short chapter today, guys. Apologies. This is more of a connector to tie together events. I promise the next will be relatively juicy. I just wanted you all to see that I am committed to finishing the story and posting more regularly (say every two weeks?) I've finally worked out the plot kinks pleasantly, at least to my own mind, and have decided to go ahead with another installment. This one is nearing its conclusion! I hope that you will all find it satisfying. You deserve a happy ending; you all have stuck with me so long! I am also considering writing a modern P&P set in London. Thoughts?

Also, if you have a moment or two to spare, please check out my blog. It's just a jumble of thoughts on literature, fashion, music, travel, etc., written in a similar style as this story. I hope that you enjoy it! Sorry for the shameless self-promotion, but I couldn't resist. I don't think the format will let me post links so I'll just give you a partial _ofshipsandsealingwax_. Add _blogspot_ and _com_, and you're golden.

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Chapter I

Much to everyone's surprise, Sir Theodore's affairs were quickly righted. His Lazarus-turn did little to phase the English authorities.

"I _cannot_ imagine those doddering, dried-up old magisterial husks have seen anything more thrilling than this case," Lizzy observed to Darcy. Apparently, however, they had. Within a relatively short period of time, Sir Arnold was stripped of his elder brother's rightful inheritance – Sir Teddy restored to the Piedmont estate. In a turn of magnanimity, he had Sir Arnold's and Wickham's sentences (they were originally to be sent to Australian penal colonies) reduced. They would go to prison – but on English ground. As for Sir Theodore and Lady Piedmont, they decided to live out the summer in Haye-Park in order to attend Darcy's wedding.

Indeed, it was the wedding that preoccupied everyone in the environs of Meryton and Longbourn, not the trial of Arnold, Wickham, and Rupert (who apparently had more to do with the attempted murder of Sir Theodore than anyone knew). Time passed quickly; three weeks after the magnificent apprehension, the wedding date loomed. Amelia put the finalizing touches on her wedding trousseau (and loosened several gowns in order to hide the growing swell of her stomach) while Betsy perfected recipes for the wedding breakfast; Mrs. Bennet fluttered about nervously attempting to arrange flowers while Elizabeth sulked.

Indeed, sulking was all that she was good for, or so she felt. She spent most of her time ensconced in the window in her garret, knees pressed to chin. Listless, she picked up book after book, always unable to read beyond the first paragraph. Driven to desperation by her total apathy, she even attempted to take up embroidery. That, of course, was also futile. Darcy was good for nothing; he was off at The Mermaid absorbed in his own thoughts, and Lizzy found herself suddenly awkward in his company. She avoided him. She thought that he, too, avoided her.

Mornings found her walking over the Netherfield for long chats and garden rambles with her Uncle Willy-Ben. She found him in blither spirits; he claimed the Hertfordshire air did wonders for his health. They discussed the midnight trap in detail – Mr. Darcy delighted at the role his dragon had played and wishing all the while that he had been there. They talked, too, of the trial and other various and sundry events. Lizzy kept him up to date on the latest wedding plans – little things like what colour flowers Amelia had chosen for the arrangements and the special pie crust Betsy was attempting. She attempted repeatedly to persuade him to bestow his blessings on the couple.

"For you'll only irrevocably distance Darcy," she warned him one golden afternoon as they strolled aimlessly through the orchards. "You must give him your consent, Uncle Willy-Ben. Never mind Amelia. She's really not as bad as you think, anyway. The both of us just want to badly to turn her into a villain. I don't think she is one, though. Not really."

"My darling girl, you are quite sagacious," Mr. Darcy replied, a wry smile on his lips, "But how on earth could I face myself? After all of the fuss I've raised! To retract and benevolently bless my foolscap of a son in this senseless farce of a marriage? He is far too young to go engaging himself to blonde chits. I know that he will live to regret it. And do not think that I do not consider the fortunes of Miss. Amelia Lawrence, either. I've her interests at heart, too. I know that she will make him unhappy, but I also know that he will make her unhappy. No," he said, striking his walking stick upon the spongy ground, "I will not give in. I am far too proud of my inexorable stance to go and relent. There must always be some sort of complication to prevent the lovers' union, and I am only too happy to be that complication."

Lizzy smiled but found herself desperately wanting to confide an entirely more serious complication – that of Amelia's pregnancy. She could not bring herself to say anything. The confession had been trembling on her lips for days, yet she was never able to get it out. She had no idea how Mr. Darcy would react. Would he confront Darcy with the information? Would he force Amelia to an affirmation?

At that moment, pink-cheeked, goldenrod-curled Georgiana ran into the garden, laughing as her hair caught the sunlight.

"Hullo, Laziest of Lizzys!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms about her friend. "Dizziest of Lizzys; Loveliest of Lizards. Where have you been?" Unusually quiet and reserved around others, Georgiana was always herself with Elizabeth. The two loved each other dearly and were fond of one another's company.

"Here, silly peach," Lizzy retorted, submitting to the embrace. "If you had taken the trouble to come out earlier, you might have found me."

Georgiana took her father's free arm, and the three commenced down the shaded avenue. Talk of Amelia and Darcy was put away; Mr. Darcy did not like to discuss such things in front of his impressionable and naïve young daughter. Instead, they discussed flora and fauna, Mr. Darcy naming all the flowers while Elizabeth and Georgiana plucked the prettiest to weave together crowns.

If they'd known all the while what a sharp eye Mr. Darcy bestowed upon their friendship. It seemed suddenly to him that Elizabeth was just the kind of companion Georgiana needed – the sister she had always so desperately wanted.

"And it will all be well," he thought to himself, as they strolled along. "Yes, it will all be well."

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Also, are you guys watching the lizzie bennet diaries?


	30. Unexpected Allies

Chapter 30

Unexpected Allies

It's the return of Lady Catherine! Didn't you guys miss her? Thanks for all the lovely, lovely comments. Hope you enjoy this one - it's a bit longer than the last. I would write more, but I'm posting this on the dash.

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Rupert Pettigrew's arrest was like a death-knell to Amelia. She took to her room immediately upon hearing Lizzy's spirited account of the criminal apprehension and did not reappear for days, refusing both food and company. There was nothing for her to do now save marry Darcy; she had increasingly become remorseful of her actions – especially when considering the nobleness and tenderness of her fiancé – and had even, at one point, attempted to cajole Rupert into an elopement. That all became impossible. She could not marry a criminal. Especially now that she knew he had not a farthing to his name.

Sick with guilt and worry and the growing baby, she cried herself to sleep night after night. Darcy called for her daily only to hear that she would see no one; brow creased in concerned, he left Longbourn without speaking once to Lizzy. She, too, skirted him, unwilling to remain long in his presence. Despite all, the wedding plans proceeded; Amelia herself came down after a week's time, white-faced and quivering, but she continued to supervise the arrangement of things.

Elizabeth knew, of course, everything. She had not dared to speak to Amelia since her cousin's hasty confession of pregnancy – had, indeed, treated the confession lightly, apparently breezing through it. In reality, it deeply unnerved and unsettled her to the extent that she spent a great deal of her time thinking upon it. Time after time, she resolved to tell Darcy the truth, knowing how greatly he deserved to be enlightened. Yet something in Amelia's eyes – something desperate and vulnerable – always held her back from any revelation. She told no one, and the secret festered within her. She could not even bring herself to confide in Lady Piedmont or Betsy or Jane. Somehow, this direct confrontation with the consequences of womanhood appalled her.

Granted, she had never particularly cared for Amelia but to understand her capable of such conduct shocked her to her core. Confident and brash and uninhibited as Lizzy seemed, she was at heart vastly ignorant of the workings of the adult world. It frightened her; Amelia, growing larger and larger with child, frightened her. She could not bring herself to demand further information. Matters were muddled even further with the imprisonment of Rupert, the father. To give away the secret now would be to throw Amelia to the wolves. She would have no one to fall upon. Mr. Bennet would, of course, be fair, but her mother would never allow Amelia to stay. She had five daughters to think of, and the taint of a "fallen woman" would permanently stain. Thus, Elizabeth stood at a crossroads. Daily, the wedding loomed larger and larger on the horizon. Daily, Elizabeth found herself running in circles of reasoning. Right and wrong no longer maintained distinctive boundaries but bled into one another. To tell would be easiest yet she could not sacrifice Amelia so heartlessly.

Usually such an expert solver of problems, Elizabeth had no solution to this problem. Like Viola, she found herself believing that "It is too hard a knot for me to untie." She would leave it to time, hoping that it would not bring in its revenges.

* * *

The Bennets were breakfasting one morning. Scarcely a week remained until the wedding, and Mrs. Bennet was all a-titter, worrying over a letter from the Gardiners regretting their inability to attend. Mr. Bennet, safely ensconced behind his paper, hummed a bit of _Cosi fan tutte_ beneath his breath whilst Elizabeth took advantage of her mother's preoccupation to build a mountain of bacon on her plate. Jane starred wistfully out of the window, no doubt dreaming of the besotted young poet who'd penned a few lines in her honour; Kitty and Lydia giggled incessantly over some old fashion plate. Mary sat with her book propped up against the tea-pot; Amelia picked at her food, not touching a bite to her lips. All was as always, nothing remotely to suggest anything out of the ordinary, the sacred Bennet breakfast tradition wholly preserved until a frightened Betsy rushed into the room only a few steps ahead of…that veritable, steel-nosed vessel of a peeress – the inimitable and unmistakable…

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh, if you please," Betsy rushed out before her ladyship could interrupt, as she very well intended to do. Indeed, she brushed past poor Betsy, who hadn't even had time to bob a curtsey she had been so bowled over by the presumptive peeress. She tried to convey her apologies via eye contact, but Mrs. Bennet was entirely too stupefied to take any notice. It was, indeed, Mr. Bennet who came to the rescue. Folding his paper, he said, very smoothly, "Why, if it is not our favourite peeress – the most precious jewel in the imperial crown. What a pleasure, your ladyship. No, indeed, what a veritable honour." He stood, bowing gravely – Lizzy caught the twinkle in his eye. "Do, be seated at our humble table. I implore you."

Lady Catherine eyed him narrowly and remained standing. "I have come on business of the utmost importance. I cannot be delayed."

"Oh?"

Mrs. Bennet found her voice and managed to garble out, "Your ladyship, we had no expected…If I had known, I would of course…" She touched the crimping papers beneath her lace-cap self-consciously.

"No mind, Mrs. Bennet. I am sorry to interrupt you, of course, but, again, my business is of the utmost importance." Lady Catherine stood severe, stern and stentorian. Lizzy found herself the target of her ladyship's beady gaze. Nonplussed but determinedly complacent, she crunched a bit of bacon. Unlike Jane and the other girls, she remained sitting in her chair.

"Oh, I do hope you have some earth-shattering news," Mr. Bennet said, standing with his hands behind his back. "We are very used to revelations made over the breakfast table, are we not, Lizzy?" he turned quizzically to his second-eldest.

"Indeed, the last little drama enacted at this lovely stage otherwise known as a breakfast table involved nothing short of a kidnapping." Mr. Bennet was, of course, referring to Mrs. Long's breathless news of Lady Piedmont's kidnapping (Lady Piedmont had, of course, been "restored" to her husband. They fudged the truth by claiming that Sir Arnold hid her within Haye-Park as a hostage. No one need know that she had, in fact, been "kidnapped" by Darcy and Joseph Lawrence.) "Doubtless you will surpass such trifles." He waved his hand in the air.

"I require a private audience with your daughter," Lady Catherine demanded. She had not been listening to him; his sardonic smile deepened in this awareness.

"Which daughter, your ladyship?" he inquired, looking around the room perplexedly. "As you can see, I have five to choose from. Six, if you include Amelia, which, of course, you must as I have footed a majority of her expenses." He turned a benevolent eye upon his niece; she looked down at her plate. Lady Catherine's eyes sought her out immediately; by the sourness of her expression, it was apparent that she had finally learned the news of the engagement. She glared daggers at poor Amelia, who lowered herself even further down into her plate.

"I have no time for quibbling, sir," Lady Catherine said, her eyes still riveted to Amelia's downturned face, "I must speak at once with Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Her eyes swiveled to Lizzy's face.

"Well, by all means," Mr. Bennet said, dropping himself down into his chair, "only, do please, sit down."

"In _private_," Lady Catherine added, emphasizing the word. "I require a _private_ audience with your daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"I am afraid that I am quite booked, your ladyship," Elizabeth said, delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Everyone requests an audience these days; you must inquire months in advance if you expect to be admitted into the charmed circle of my presence."

"I have no time for your pertness, Elizabeth Bennet!" Lady Catherine hissed, leaning closer to her. "I will not stand for it! Come along this instant!"

Mrs. Bennet attempted to marshal her daughter in Lady Catherine's general direction, but Elizabeth refused to budge from her seat. "I will go nowhere until I have finished by breakfast," she announced determinedly to the room. "Lady Catherine, if you would be so kind as to humour me. By all means, be seated. Betsy will fetch you a plate. I can never think properly until I am fed."

"I will NOT be seated, thank-you!" Lady Catherine cried, standing stock-still and straight as a Doric column. She refused the chair Mrs. Bennet offered, instead crossing her talon-sharp arms over her chest. "Proceed with your breakfast, Elizabeth Bennet. I will await you here."

Thus, for the next half-hour, Elizabeth lingered over her breakfast, taking infinitesimal bites of egg in order to prolong her ladyship's wait. Lady Catherine stood over her like a fury watching every single bite that she took. She slowed herself down to a snail's pace of eating - taking at least five minutes to scrape an acceptable layer of butter over her toast, laboriously cutting a banana into superfine slices, and taking hummingbird sips of her tea. Meanwhile, Lady Catherine glowered sparks, and the Bennets sat in intolerable suspension. Jane scarcely dared breath she was so nervous. Mrs. Bennet wanted desperately to reprimand her daughter but could not bring herself to be sharp and uncivil before so great a personage. All of her efforts at hospitality were hostilely rejected; Lady Catherine refused to take so much as a sugar-cube. Mr. Bennet just smiled serenely, hands folded over his waist-coat.

At last, Elizabeth put down her knife and fork…as slowly as she possibly could manage. Turning to her father, she inquired, "May I be excused, sir?"

Mr. Bennet merely laughed. "As you have never once begged my permission before, I cannot fathom why you ask now. Nevertheless, off you go. Mustn't keep her ladyship waiting."

Lizzy rose unhurried from the table. "Your ladyship?" she asked, politely curtseying. "I await your directions."

Lady Catherine, quaking with impatience, spat out, "There is a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company." This was all said through her clenched teeth. Lizzy wondered how she managed to bank the flames of her obvious rage. It was an admirable display, especially before the quaking Bennets.

"My company is certainly no favour," Lizzy replied, "nevertheless, lead on, your ladyship. Lead on." And following meekly in that great lady's wake, Elizabeth departed the breakfast room in grand state, turning just in time to throw a wink to her father.

Lady Catherine set a ridiculous pace; in no time whatsoever they were in the gardens.

"Tell me at once!" she said, all vestige of propriety vanished into the mid-morning haze. "Was that little blonde wisp at the table the impudent chit who intends to marry my nephew?"

"Well, let us proceed immediately into the issue at hand!" Elizabeth exclaimed, "Lady Catherine, I applaud your cutting straight to the case. Yes, indeed, that was my cousin Amelia Lawrence, lately engaged to your nephew, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Are you satisfied now? Did you come all the way from Kent just in order to affix a face to his fiancé?"

"Do not be impudent, girl! You know very well why I came. The marriage cannot go forth. Fitzwilliam Darcy has a longstanding engagement with _my_ daughter, Anne de Bourg."

"Well, it would appear, then, that Darcy is well on his way to the practise of bigamy," Lizzy quipped, not caring how this was taken.

"Elizabeth Bennet!" Lady Catherine shouted, visibly aghast. "How dare you speak of such…such…barbarous…ungodly…"

"Iniquity?" Lizzy supplied helpfully. "Forgive my indelicacy. I was simply stating the facts of the matter."

"The fact of the matter is that this wedding must be called off. Immediately."

"Then why on earth did you come here, of all places? Had you not better spend your time reasoning with Darcy himself?"

"Do you not think that I _have_?" Lady Catherine had, in fact, awoken her nephew from a restless slumber at six o'clock in the morning. Crowing angrily, she had set upon him like a bristling cock. He had been unrelenting. "God knows I attempted to reason with him, but he has the Darcy stubbornness. He absolutely refuses to see reason."

"Your reason, that is," Lizzy corrected. "He refuses to see _your_ reason."

"My reason is the right reason," Lady Catherine said.

"Yes, well, you are not God, Lady Catherine, much as you aspire to be," Lizzy said. They had always been deliciously frank with one another. "Thus, you cannot know for certain that your reason is the right reason. Is there really ever a right reason?"

"Do not get philosophical with _me_, Elizabeth Bennet," Lady Catherine fired off ,bristling at Elizabeth's impiety and disrespect. "Stick to the matter at hand – the imminent ruin of my house!"

"This is not a Greek tragedy. Your nephew is only getting married. Be thankful it is not to his mother. Then he would have to blind himself."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl!"

"Really, Lady Catherine, you have called me all the same things before. I will have to begin insulting myself in order to add flavour to your stock phrases. Please be reasonable. Darcy is a grown-man, and grown-men are allowed to make their own mistakes."

"You openly acknowledge this to be a mistake!" Lady Catherine announced in triumph.

"All marriages are mistakes," Lizzy said. "Mistakes are not necessarily bad things. They often make us happier in the end. Please do not push me to hasty generalizations. I detest universalizing things in the early morning. I have no even properly digested my breakfast."

"This is all beside the point. You must help me stop this marriage from proceeding. That is why I have come, you see. To enlist your help."

"_My_ help?" Lizzy cried, throwing her hand to her chest in surprise. "Good Lord, Lady Catherine de Bourg! I never thought I would hear the day. You _are_ in desperate straits."

Lady Catherine nodded stiffly, relenting slightly. "I cannot possibly stand by and allow this travesty to occur. I would rather see my nephew married to you, impossible heathen girl, before I would see him married to that….that…"

"You needn't finish the sentence," Lizzy said. "But have you not considered the happiness of my cousin? Or her fortunes? Or the ruin of _her_ house?"

"She hasn't a 'house,'" Lady Catherine said, "she is a nobody."

"She has a father named Joe Lawrence. Two people together constitute a family which constitutes a 'house,' which makes her not a nobody," Lizzy insisted. "And you have made me use a double negative so I am doubly angry with you."

Lady Catherine put a scented handkerchief to her throbbing temple. "I do not understand how you can stand by and allow this to proceed, Elizabeth," she said wearily. Lizzy could see that she was losing momentum and suggested they take a seat on a nearby bench. She felt a sudden touch of concern for the old dragon. Granted, she was abominably rude and uncivil and insulting, but Lizzy had always admired her pluck, however wrongly channeled.

"I say again, Elizabeth Bennet," Lady Catherine repeated, once she had arranged herself, "I do not see how you can possibly stand by. Knowing your own love for my nephew." This was Lady Catherine's chief card.

Her words struck Elizabeth visibly. She blanched, then reddened.

"Yes. You could never fool me. I have always known, just as I have always known that he could never care for you in that way."

"I love Darcy as a friend and nothing more," Lizzy said weakly. "You know nothing of my feelings."

"It is not difficult to see," Lady Catherine persisted, "you have been in love with him for years. Indeed, until this little blonde minx waltzed in under our noses and secured him, I was terribly concerned that _you_ would be his choice. Thanks be to God that he entertains not the faintest idea of such a catastrophic mistake. Yes, I am absolutely certain that he cares for you only as a friend. I pride myself upon my observational skills, Miss. Bennet, and I have observed nothing in his demeanor to warrant suspicion in _your_ case."

"Indeed, Lady Catherine," Lizzy remarked sardonically, "I hardly think he can juggle two mésalliances, seeing that he is already knee-deep in one."

"It does not matter how many he 'juggles,' as you so coarsely phrase it. He can marry no one but my daughter Anne. They were engaged at infancy."

"Dear Lord!" Lizzy exclaimed, vaguely remembering the sickly, freckle-faced, anemic little Anne de Bourg. "How positively medieval of you! Are you a secret Hapsburg, perhaps?"

"I haven't time for levity, girl. You must help me stop this wedding."

"Lady Catherine, I haven't the slightest desire to help you, and you certainly haven't helped win me over to your cause."

"I say again, Elizabeth: You love my nephew. He cannot be in love with this Amelia Lawrence character. Out of your love for him (knowing you cherish no such warm feelings for _me_), you must be convinced to help stop this. It will be the ruin of them both. She will be made equally as unhappy as he will be – I am sure of it. Who knows if the girl can stay faithful; I have heard rumours…"

Elizabeth started in surprise – Lady Catherine touching so closely to the secret. She thought of her greatest fear – that Amelia would somehow stray beyond her marriage vows, Darcy would discover, and they would both be plunged into the acutest misery. Surely he would know that her unborn child was not his. Yet he would be bound to her inexorably, and, being a man of honour, he would probably not say a word. Only languish, she thought. The temptation to confide grew stronger and stronger. Lady Catherine was a peeress in a position of definite power. Moreover, she was Darcy's aunt.

"If you knew of anything, Elizabeth, you would be bound by God to tell me. I am well aware of how perceptive you are; you seem to have your finger in every proverbial pie in this neighbourhood. Indeed, in all of England." Lady Catherine's manner had become much smoother and more inviting. Elizabeth saw this and resented it, despising herself secretly for the confidence she was building towards.

"You needn't flatter me, Lady Catherine. I may not be immune to it, but I certainly do not actively seek it out. Let us be perfectly candid with one another. I do, indeed, know something rather damning about my cousin." She stopped, wetting her lips. Lady Catherine's mouth curved into a slight smile. She felt she had won. "Doubtless you will immediately use this information against her. I must insist, however, that you tell no one save Mr. Darcy. He will know what to do in this situation. I am afraid that I, myself, cannot confide in him." For Mr. Darcy was a man, even if one of her dearest friends, and Elizabeth could never have entertained the idea of telling him of Amelia's condition. "You will by no means trumpet it to the whole of Hertfordshire. Consider my cousin's situation and age. She is young and foolish. I will not see her branded."

"Yes, that is all very well. I agree to all of your terms," Lady Catherine said impatiently.

Elizabeth paused, looking skyward. She knew without a doubt that this was a mistake, and yet she could think of no better alternative.

"My cousin Amelia Lawrence is with child."

* * *

Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I thought it would add a splash of drama for a change. The next chapter will have a Lizzy/Darcy scene. Promise.


	31. Darcy's Letter

Lizzy, seeking sanctuary in her room after her taxing interview with Lady Catherine, found a letter on the floorboard beneath her window (which she always left slightly ajar). She had to read it thrice before fully comprehending.

_Lizzy,_

_You will laugh, but I don't care. I love you. There, I've written it down at last. _

_You must know that I love you – I always have, Lizzy, and always will, though I can't see why I should be so attached to such a pert-tongued, mischief-making, half-wild imp. I was a blind fool until the moment you kissed me, and I haven't been able to think of anything since. _

_Meet me at the castle ruins. Midnight. We are going to run away together, Elizabeth Bennet. Damn the consequences._

_D. _


	32. Asunder

I should just stop apologizing to you guys! I am inevitably terrible. It's just been a hectic few months – I've been studying for the LSAT & attempting to figure out what to do with my life as it is. Apologies, apologies, apologies regardless. Chapter title probably gives all away – but you guys are usually one step ahead of me anyway. Also, sorry for the language. Darcy's going to go through a bit of a dark streak before morphing into the charming fellow we know him as. Love angst. Also, love you all, oh dedicated and patient ones! Will try to post more – been feeling in a bit of an escapist mood lately.

* * *

Asunder

Crumpet Castle was, in fact, a derivation of "Crumbledown Castle." Lizzy had knighted the picturesque ruins after her favourite tea-time snack. Perched haphazardly atop a hill, the castle was said to be the haunt of the "good people." As a child, she had spent a great deal of time protecting the castle from the siege of invisible Norman armies. She liked to pretend that she was a Druid priestess, and the ruins were her stronghold. Now she approached the castle with a throbbing heart, uncertain of everything.

"You're late," Darcy chided, obviously uncertain of how to proceed. After the passionate outburst of his brief letter, he stood ill-at-ease, awkward, unsure. They both surveyed their moon-shadows, Darcy nervously opening and closing his fists, Lizzy knotting her fingers behind her back, "If we're to get anywhere tonight…"

"Well, where _are_ we to get to exactly?" Lizzy demanded.

Darcy looked confused. "I thought I'd let you decide the place, as I know you've plotted it all out scads of times before."

"Must I always be the one to do the plotting? You _are_ the man, Darcy."

"Yes, but you are such a magnificent plotter," he insisted.

Lizzy took hold of her elbows behind her back and began to stalk back and forth in the manner of a military officer surveying the territory. "Have you seriously considered the consequences? You will be guilty of breaking an engagement, a shameless act and one that would render you a blackguard in the eyes of all. I will likewise be labeled as a hussy and a host of other unpleasant unmentionables."

Darcy stretched out a hand. "It will not matter, Elizabeth. We will be far away from them all, beyond their scorn, together."

Lizzy paused in her pacing and regarded him suspiciously. The other hand remained behind his back. "What do you have in your hand?" she asked, moving a little closer to him. They were both keeping their distances from one another. "Well?" she demanded, as he looked away from her, quite obviously embarrassed. "Show me, Darcy, for Heaven's sake!"

He pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and held them out to her sheepishly.

"Flowers, Darcy? Really?" She arched an eyebrow. "Are we _those_ kind of people, now?"

"Well, what do you expect?" he asked, casting them down on the ground, "am I not allowed even a sentimental gesture?"

"But _flowers_?" She laughed. "Please tell me you composed a sonnet in my honour, too? Is it hidden in the bouquet?" She bent to pick it up, but Darcy snatched it away again, colouring deeply.

"Of course I didn't compose a sonnet," he snapped, "it was a villanelle."

"Right proper. A villanelle for a villainess. For well we both know, Fitzwilliam Darcy, that you are no brash, swashbuckling hero, and I am no pink-cheeked, mealy-mouthed heroine."

"This is all completely beside the point, Lizzy," he said, removing a folded piece of paper from the center of the bouquet and placing it carefully within his coat. "Where are we to go? I would prefer not to stand about in these ruins all evening and catch my death of pneumonia."

"Perhaps I will, and then I will have a magnificent death scene where I sing out my love to you in the form of a sublime aria," Lizzy said. The night was turning colder – there was a definite, palpable chill in the air. The ruins – so harmless and higgledy-piggledy by daylight - were menacing in the darkness. Darcy and Elizabeth both shivered involuntarily, neither willing to give credence to the superstitions surrounding the hill but both, secretly, believing.

"You do not love Amelia, then?" she said suddenly.

"No," he insisted, "no, no, no. I was a fool, Elizabeth. An utter and absolute fool."

"Yet you think it fair to leave her without a word of explanation?

"In circumstances such as these, yes." Darcy was clearly agitated. He, too, began to stride up and down.

"Darcy, this is so unlike you," Lizzy said earnestly. She wrapped her arms about her body, feeling the cold through her thin wrapper.

"Unlike me?" he stopped, regarding her. "Good God, Lizzy! Surely you do not think it right that I should sacrifice myself to a marriage that I know would lead only to misery on both sides! Surely you believe me more judicious! More reasonable than to allow such a union to progress?"

"I mean that it is unlike you to run from obligation. You have always been so entirely capable, so entirely responsible. And your father, Darcy. Think of him! You would be leaving him, too. And in his condition…"

"So you are asking me to submit to _this_?"

"You brought it upon yourself!" she exclaimed fiercely, "you have no one to blame save your own foolish inclination. Running away will do nothing save disgrace you in the eyes of those you care most about. If you do not love Amelia, _tell her_. You owe her that at least. Think carefully, Darcy. _That_ is what I advise you."

He threw his arms up into the air in frustration. "Tell her? And what if she refuses to listen? What if she insists upon going through what must surely become a farce?"

"Have your feelings changed so quickly? Only yesterday it seems that you were devoted to her body and soul. Now you categorize these seemingly deep-rooted feelings as farcical! Listen to yourself, Darcy! These are the ravings of a man. Shall we elope to Bedlam?"

He placed a palm to his forehead, applying unnatural pressure. "You laugh at me, Lizzy. Dear God. I beg you do anything other than laugh at me in this moment. I know how changeable I seem – how fickle and selfish and utterly…"

"Impossible," Lizzy finished. She shook her head. "I am not laughing at you, Darcy. Do not mistake me. I take you in earnest. I simply want what is best for you."

"And what of yourself?"

"Never fear – I always take myself into consideration," she said cheerfully, "at heart I am the most devoted narcissist."

"You are neglecting the most important element," he said.

"Yes," she said, turning away to look off into the distance.

"And I," he said, moving close to her, "have been neglecting _you_." He removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders, arranging it about her. "You must be freezing. Forgive me." She drew it close to her, nodding her thanks. He did not move away but leaned closer, his breath warm against her face. Still she refused to look at him. "Surely you must know, Elizabeth, how much I love you. I did not realize how much until you kissed me that evening…It was then that I suddenly felt how long it has been building…how infinitely greatly it surpasses anything I ever felt for Amelia Lawrence." He moved to touch her face, but she jumped violently away and began laughing. She could not help it – she did not find the situation at all funny, and yet the laughter burbled up and could not be contained.

"Is my love so hilarious?" he asks, obviously hurt.

"No, of course not!" she exclaimed, calming herself. "It is simply that I do not love you."

He staggered back. "Do not love me, Lizzy? Then why, _why_ did you…"

"You should know me better by now. I am so impulsive. It was a moment of impulse – reckless, meaningless." Lizzy brushed through the lie.

There was a very long pause during which Darcy turned away from her, facing the crumbling tower. "This changes everything, of course," he said, with his back to her.

"Yes," she said in a small voice. "Yes, it does."

"How could you, Lizzy?" he turned back. "How _could_ you?"

"I am sorry," she said, "I am so very sorry, Darcy."

"Well, then, _madam_," he said, almost snarling, "Please pardon me for taking up so much of your time." Without another word, he began to stride away, down the hill. Lizzy, dropping his coat in the grass, ran after him.

"Darcy!" she shouted, frightened at the loudness of her voice in the total quiet. They had been inadvertently whispering the entirety of the interview. "Darcy!" she shouted again, catching up with him and wrenching his arm. "Listen to me. When I say that I do not love you, I mean that I do not love you as…as…What I mean to say is, that I will always, always love you as a friend. You have been my dearest, dearest friend all these years, and I could never imagine…"

"This changes everything," Darcy said. "We can never go back."

"Why? You are being ridiculous…"

"You have made me ridiculous," he said, stone-voiced. He would not look at her. "I came here tonight believing that you loved me enough to abandon all consequences…No impediment could stand in our way…I thought you were a woman, Lizzy, capable of deep, sustaining, reciprocal, real love. But you are and always will be a child," he spat the word at her feet, "a mere child with a child's fancies and a child's whims and a child's ephemeral attachments."

"Oh, and you are the paragon of maturity, then?" she demanded. "So sage and all-knowing are we? Passionately in love with one woman one day, and the next declaring your eternal devotion to another? Is _that_ the model of abiding love I am to follow? You are just as much –if not more – a child as I am."

"I will listen to no more of this!" he said, turning away again. Still Lizzy pursued him.

"You _will_ listen!" she cried, keeping pace with his long strides by a sort of bounding, gazelle-like leaping. "You are confused, Darcy. You believe running away will solve everything, but it will only complicate things further. Of course I would be happy to run off with you as comrades at arms…I could happily pull a Rosalind or a Viola. But I do not think it would be right or wise."

Darcy strode on, mute and implacable. The ruins receded behind them.

"Please, Darcy," Lizzy begged. "I _am_ sorry. But we are both of us so young. We neither of us know our true hearts. That will take time – much time."

"You can have nothing more to say to me that is worth hearing," he said, turning abruptly on his heel so that Lizzy almost collided into his chest. "I never want to speak to you again, Elizabeth Bennet. I never want to see you again. I want nothing more to do with you."

"Darcy!" she cried, somewhat aghast. The vehemence of this reaction stunned her. He was like some fiercesome beast – all the fiercer for his injury.

"Go home," he said, "you will never be bothered by me again."

"Darcy, please do not be embarrassed by what you confessed…I am honoured, truly I am honoured…Do not think that I am laughing at you. I am not laughing. I am not!" She pulled at his arm, but he wrenched it from her grasp.

"I want nothing more to do with you," he said, starring straight and unflinchingly into her eyes. She backed away, her hands hanging limply at her sides. This was not what she had expected at all.

"You will never stopped laughing, and so you will never love or be loved," he said, "I hate you for it, Elizabeth Bennet. I hate you for what you have done to me."

"Please," she said, softly, "you do not understand…"

"Oh, I understand _perfectly_. Was this one of your little schemes? Did you get bored and need some amusement? _Oh, why don't we trifle with Darcy's affections – toy with his heartstrings? He will be married soon and out of our way, so why not have our fun while we are able?_ Why did you kiss me if you did not love me, Elizabeth? That is sluttish behaviour!"

Lizzy felt the sting of the words. Her hands flew to her cheeks.

"Did you get up a bet with Elton, eh? Are any of your little cohorts around now to witness my humiliation? Well, I hope they have had a damn good show!"

"You are so, so wrong."

"And you are so, so right when you say that you are not a lady. I cannot bear to be in your presence a moment longer." With that, he turned and continued on. Lizzy did not follow this time. She did not call out to his rapidly retreating figure. A shadow amidst shadows, he was soon lost to the darkness.

The moon gleamed faintly through torn shrouds of tattered clouds. Above her loomed the broken battlements of the castle. It was in their shadow that Lizzy fell to her knees and wept.


	33. Revelations

Revelations

SURPRISE! I hope it is a pleasant one. I don't think I've ever posted this soon on the heels of any chapter. Sorry about the boring chapter titles. I'm almost to 100,000 words, guys! Do you think you could get me to 1,000 reviews? Fly me to the moon? I kid, I kid. : )

* * *

It was late morning by the time Lizzy returned to Longbourn. After hours of weeping, she had fallen asleep in the tall grasses of the meadow. Ashen-faced, with red-lined eyes, she looked like a _somnambulist_, a _revenant_, returned from beyond the grave.

Somehow managing to creep up the backstairs and into her room, Lizzy intended on sleeping away the afternoon by claiming ill. Unfortunately, she was not to make it past the second landing.

"Heavens, child!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, upon seeing her daughter. "You look an absolute fright! Your _hair_, Lizzy! Your _hair_!"

"Please, Mama," Lizzy mumbled, eyes downcast, "I am feeling very ill."

"Ill? You cannot possibly know illness, Lizzy, until you have dealt with my nerves! But you cannot be ill now, of all times! For you have just been expressly summoned to Netherfield Park by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourg. She is residing in state there with Mr. Darcy, you know. What an honour for you, my dear! I have not been so pleased with you in a very long time."

"I cannot go, Mama," Lizzy said, clutching the banister. "I tell you, I am ill."

"Yes, but you can manage a morning interview quite well, I am sure," Mrs. Bennet replied, arranging her lace, "and Amelia is to go with you. She, too, was summoned. Lady Catherine's servant awaits you downstairs. He is quite determined, you see. I am sure that if I were to tell him you were too ill, he would come upstairs and escort you there himself…"

"Do you mean to say that he would sling me over his shoulders and carry me to Netherfield like a sack of potatoes?" Lizzy asked, looking up for the first time.

"You have such coarse ways of putting things, Elizabeth! But, yes, in a manner of speaking…Do go and wash your face and tidy yourself. Put on a new dress. Heavens! How you dirty things!" Mrs. Bennet surveyed her daughter's crumpled, dirt-smeared frock with distaste. "I would almost suspect that you had been out sleeping in the pigsty!"

"Circe really is very good company," Lizzy retorted, referring to their prized sow, "she keeps me quite warm in these frosty winter months."

"Hold your pertness for the poor visits and make haste! You must make yourself presentable for her ladyship!" With that injunction, Mrs. Bennet hurried down the stairs to have further converse with the manservant. Lizzy was left with no other alternative than to change dresses, comb her matted hair, and scrub at her face. She emerged from her room, however, looking as lost and absent as before.

* * *

Amelia and Lizzy ascended the Netherfield stairs in a state of hushed unease. Netherfield had never before inspired Lizzy with any kind of terror, but there was something today in the charged atmosphere. The grand hall seemed somehow foreign and lowering – the clustered portraits of aristocrats which she normally laughed at – the pompous peers of the past – seemed to stand together in judgment against her. She saw Darcy's face everywhere – critical, damning.

"Why on earth would Lady Catherine request an interview with _me_?" Amelia whispered, more to herself than to Lizzy. "Whatever can she have to say?" Her hand strayed without thought to her stomach. She was having an increasingly difficult time hiding her fullness.

They reached one of the parlours. The surly manservant entered and announced them. As soon as they entered, they were confronted by a tableaux – Lady Catherine sat like a smoking volcano, her iron-grey curls in a Medusa-like disarray. Mr. Darcy had his hand shading his eyes, crumpled into a corner of the sofa. Darcy stood at the window overlooking the drive. She could not see his face or make out his expression. She did not want to see him.

"Are you to tell me, girl," Lady Catherine began immediately after the manservant had closed the door (though even this discretion proved unnecessary, as he soon had his ear at the keyhole along with half of the maidservants), "that you are with child?"

Amelia coloured deeply and staggered. Lizzy took her arm to steady her.

"Your reaction should act as proof enough. Deny it if it is not so!"

Amelia could not speak. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and her lips trembled. She looked continually to Darcy, but still he would not turn.

"You needn't be afraid, my dear," Mr. Darcy said, straightening and regarding Amelia compassionately, "We only ask the truth. Please do not be afraid to admit to the truth."

Amelia looked to Elizabeth beseechingly.

"You needn't turn to her," Lady Catherine said, "she is responsible for the revelation. Are you not, Miss. Bennet?"

"I am indeed, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said brokenly, "but this is by every violation of our agreement. This is a knave's trick. You, my lady, are a knave."

"Your insults do not pierce me. I am too accustomed to them," Lady Catherine replied. "I say again, girl, do you deny your cousin's allegation that you are with child by Rupert Pettigrew, a confirmed criminal?"

"Lizzy…" Amelia remarked, aghast. "Lizzy, how _could_ you?" This vulnerability hurt Elizabeth far more than any acrimonious retaliation. She felt tears in her own eyes as she said, taking hold of both Amelia's limp arms. "I have been duped, Amelia, tricked. Yes, I was guilty of confiding in Lady Catherine, but you must understand…I could not allow you to…It was wrong of me. Wrong, wrong, wrong of me! But what else was I to do?"

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said gently, "all will be well. You needn't fear that this will ever go beyond this room, Miss. Lawrence." He stood and approached the pair, his brow creased with genuine concern. "I grant that I have been your declared enemy, but, my dear girl, you must know that I will be your truest friend in this, if you confide in me the honest truth." He stood before her, holding out his hands. "In faith, I think it would be best if perhaps we had our own interview," he said, turning to his sister-in-law. "Please remain here for the time, and I shall escort Miss. Lawrence to my library."

"Does not her fiancé deserve to hear?" Lady Catherine demanded. "Does he not have that right?"

Still, Darcy did not turn.

Mr. Darcy looked to his son and shook his head. "I will speak with Miss. Lawrence alone, and then we may converse from there."

They departed. Elizabeth, anxious at being in the same room with Darcy, claimed a chair in the furthest corner. She did not speak to Lady Catherine, and Lady Catherine did not address a word to her. The clock ticked on. Darcy remained implacable at his window. Lizzy felt a sense of such complete, exhausting misery that she could scarcely believe in her own existence. _I am not really here_, she kept telling herself, _and this is not really happening_.

A half hour of tortuous silence later, and Mr. Darcy returned with Amelia. He placed her gently beside him on the sofa. "Come away from the window, please, Fitzwilliam," he said to his son. "Come away from the window…"

Darcy did not come at once. Indeed, Lizzy thought he intended to remain fixed in his spot, starring out into nothing, but he did, after a few moments, turn. She could not bring herself to look at him. If she had, she would have been astonished by the complete transformation of his features. The open-natured if slightly reserved boy she had known had overnight become a fixed, impenetrable mask of coldness. He revealed nothing but, flinging himself in a chair near his aunt, remained unreadable and distant.

"Your aunt's accusations are, unfortunately, true," Mr. Darcy said, addressing his son. He had taken Amelia's hand in his own and was chafing it gently. "Miss. Lawrence is with child."

Amelia glanced quickly at Darcy and then quickly at her hands. His aloofness frightened her tremendously.

"She is very, very sorry," Mr. Darcy continued, still chafing her hand, "and wishes any understanding between you to be immediately at an end."

"That is to be expected," Darcy said tonelessly, "but Miss. Lawrence need have no fear on my own part. I am quite willing to be married to her."

"That is not feasible," Mr. Darcy said, clearly surprised by his son's words. "Miss. Lawrence does not wish it."

"Does she not? Does it not seem like the most reasonable solution? We will be married, and she will be protected. I do this in her own best interests, as well as ours. After all, people might suppose the child to be mine. How could I heartlessly abandon her?" Every word was leveled off, clipped and emotionless. Darcy sounded like a barrister in a court of law, not a young man wronged by his fiancé.

"Again, Fitzwilliam, that will not be necessary."

"Indeed, it will not!" Lady Catherine chimed.

"No one need know about Miss. Lawrence's condition. I am going to take her abroad, so that she might have the child in relative privacy without the world looking on to cast judgments."

"I say again, Father, that I have every intention of marrying Miss. Lawrence. We are pledged."

Amelia darted another glance at him. He did not return her gaze but remained focused upon the portrait of one of his predecessors that hung above the mantelpiece.

"Miss. Lawrence has expressed her wish that your engagement be terminated. You cannot force Miss. Lawrence into matrimony against her will."

"Perhaps you should allow Miss. Lawrence to speak for herself. Do you, Amelia," he said, addressing Amelia but still steadily regarding the portrait, "have no interest in marrying me?"

She seemed unable to speak.

"Do not hesitate to give your real opinion," he said. "Tell me, Amelia, do you have no interest in marrying me?"

"I – I – I…I cannot," she stuttered out. "I have behaved so badly, Fitzwilliam. I cannot allow you to join yourself to my ruin." She burst into tears – as, indeed, she had been doing periodically for the past half hour.

"There will be no ruin if we are married."

"Yes," she said, "but I will know it in my heart. I will know always how badly I have wronged you. Indeed," she was growing more confident, "I believe I will begin to resent you. Our marriage would be founded on charity – on your charity, sir. We could never exist as equals, and you could never love my child."

"Love is not an issue," he said, with heightened colour. "I do not believe love is a necessity in anything. Indeed, I will go so far as to say that I do not believe in love."

Lizzy stiffened in her corner, stung by his words.

"This is all beside the point!" Lady Catherine trilled. "The girl is no more than a shameless, contemptible _whore_…"

"Sister!" Mr. Darcy interjected, "mind your language! Remember to whom you speak."

"I am certainly aware to whom I speak!" Lady Catherine retorted. "Do you not think I tailor my addresses to suit her condition?"

"I will not have you speak in that manner to a fellow human being under my roof, Lady Catherine!" Mr. Darcy said, quietly but emphatically. "You will apologize at once."

Lady Catherine drew back, surprised. A tense few moments passed before she muttered, as quickly as possible, "I am sorry."

Lizzy had never before seen her ladyship chastised. She looked to Mr. Darcy, who remained calm, still holding Amelia's hand. "Let me further clarify – The subject we have been discussing is forbidden to be spoken of beyond this room. You will promise, Lady Catherine?"

"Yes," she mumbled, playing with the tips of her lace gloves.

"I have your word?"

"You have my word!" she said, looking up wrathfully.

"We will go abroad," Mr. Darcy said again, this time quite firmly. "It is decided. I have only recently consulted with one of my doctors, who recommends the Italian climate for my health. All will coincide perfectly."

Darcy did not deign to respond. He crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent.

"You will return to Cambridge and immerse yourself in your studies," Mr. Darcy informed his son. "I feel you still have much to learn, Fitzwilliam. I will speak with you at length later this afternoon." He turned to Elizabeth, who was still secreted in her corner. "And you, my dear, will accompany us abroad. Georgiana requires a companion, and I require a nurse. You will suit us both admirably."

She looked at Darcy, who did not return her glance.

"The wedding, of course, must be called off. We will say that it was a mutual parting of ways. You both felt that you were too young. I will gladly be painted as the villain – Darcy was forced to end the engagement based on my imperious nature. He is slave to my will in both senses." Mr. Darcy paused, his eyes twinkling. Indeed, he seemed the only contented personage in the room. "There, now. I think we have had enough business for one day. Shall I call for tea?"

Darcy stood up and left the room without a further word. Lady Catherine likewise departed with a chilly, "Good day to you." Lizzy, feeling she could not manage a bite, begged leave, and Amelia, unwilling to remain in conference with her surprise benefactor, made a similar excuse.

"And so it is," Mr. Darcy remarked to himself, when, at last, he was alone.


	34. Confessions

Last chapter before we jump ahead a few years! I am going to try to regulate this all by starting regular posts on Fridays. We are going to have a third installment, but I'm just going to add it to this story! Is that okay with you guys?

* * *

Things suddenly happened.

The engagement was ended as seamlessly as it had begun – strangely, the inhabitants of Meryton were none too curious. Most applauded Darcy for his wise decision. In their minds, no penniless girl –however saucer-eyed and porcelain-pretty - was worth the sacrifice of an enormous inheritance. Amelia was thus relegated to her former insignificance in the neighbourhood. Her condition considered, this obscurity was welcome.

Much as it personally pained him, Mr. Bennet agreed to allow his daughter to travel abroad in Mr. Darcy's company. He knew how starved she was for adventure, how greatly she desired to see the world, and could not deny her the opportunity.

"I would not part with you for worlds," he told her one evening as they sat together in his library. He had called her there after supper to give his consent, after having considered the matter for some days, leaving her in suspense. "But you must go and see the world – wretched place that it is." She sat at his feet, cross-legged, an open book upon her lap. He touched her chestnut curls. The rain pattered against the windowpane, but the fire crackled reassuringly in the grate. "You have been downcast of late, Lizzy, and it pains me," he said, "I must attribute this glumness to your restlessness. You are too much like your father, I am afraid." With that, he sighed. "So go. You have my permission."

She laid her head against his knee, allowing him to stroke her curls as he had done when she was a very small child. A single tear slid down her cheek. Thankfully for Elizabeth, her father did not see it.

Certainly, this trip was what she had always wanted, and yet now, when all was real and certain, happiness and anticipation were impossible. For weeks she had felt only apathy and complete separation. She spent much of her time sleeping, anxious to cast from herself the weary weight of consciousness. Living was suddenly a burden. She could free her mind from nothing save the agonizing remembrance of her conversation with Darcy amidst the ruins. In the midst of gaining her heart's desire, she had lost her dearest friend. Furthermore, she had told the most devastating lie of her life.

Yet time wound on. Their embarkation was upon them, yet still she had had no word from Darcy. She expected some sort of final confrontation – indeed, she desired his bitter recriminations more than the long, protracted silences. Mr. Darcy himself had little to say on the subject of his son. In all of the whirlwind of planning, he failed once to mention the whereabouts of Darcy. Elizabeth could not bring herself to ask. Darcy's name had suddenly become impossible to say. She spoke to no one of him, only strained to catch some news of him by hearsay. Yet, there was nothing.

She said little to Amelia. They were on the frostiest of terms – Amelia having sworn herself to eternal enmity against her cousin on the carriage ride home from Netherfield that afternoon of revelations.

The evening before their departure to Amsterdam – They would begin in the Low Countries before proceeding through Germany into Switzerland and northern Italy – Elizabeth spent ensconced with Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. Almost miraculously, Mr. Darcy's health had taken a decided turn for the better. His doctor attributed it to the freshness of the Hertfordshire countryside. Change was a beneficial factor – He would be helped by new scenery, by a variety of people and places. This was what he wanted.

They sat comfortably before the fire, Georgiana plaiting Lizzy's hair, Mr. Darcy negligently reading a novel. It was then that she allowed herself to ask, tentatively, "Where is Darcy these days?" She attempted to hide the trembling in her voice, to sound casual. She did not think that Mr. Darcy knew of anything that had transpired between them – not the kiss or the clandestine meeting or the bitter departure. "I have not seen him for many weeks now. Has he gone down to Cambridge?"

"No, my dear," Mr. Darcy remarked, looking up. "How strange! Darcy has been here at Netherfield all this time. I find it a wonder that he has not visited you!"

"He has not called once," Lizzy said, placing her chin on her knee and gazing into the fire.

Perhaps it is due to some awkwardness on the part of your cousin. He would not want to intrude upon her presence. Bad memories and all that."

"Yes," Lizzy said absently.

"Nothing has happened between you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. Like Mr. Bennet, he had been worried about her strange and unnatural behaviour the past few weeks. He had not seen her smile in ages, and she had lost her roguish, quippish manner. She had been so unlike herself of late. Was this attributable to some falling out?

"Oh, no!" she said, too forcibly.

"Hold still, Lizzy!" Georgiana commanded, twining her fingers even tighter in Lizzy's hair. "I'll never finish if you keep fidgeting so."

"Georgiana," Mr. Darcy said, closing his book, "would you run down to Mrs. Pross in the pantry and inquire after the packing? I want to ensure that we have an early start tomorrow."

Georgiana bound the last plait with a piece of silk ribbon and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. Lizzy's hair was a bird's-nest of tangled braids. She smiled proudly and said, "Very well, Papa," before scurrying off to locate the housekeeper.

When the door had closed behind his daughter, Mr. Darcy turned again to Elizabeth. She regarded the carpet, tracing a pattern.

"Lizzy," he said, "I hope that you know you may confide in me."

"Yes," she mumbled.

"And you would tell me any and everything?"

"No," she said, with a hint of her old spirit, "No, I will not tell you any and everything, sir. That would be a trifle too much."

"Of course." He leaned back in his chair. "But you would tell me if something had happened between yourself and my son? I deserve to know at least that."

Lizzy touched her hair and gathered her knees to her chin. She hesitated several moments before, at last, breaking. "I have done something so very, very terrible!" she sobbed out, rocking herself. "I cannot believe how foolish I have been!"

"Oh, Lizzy!" Mr. Darcy said, holding out his arms to her. She shook her head, refusing to be embraced. "Lizzy, is this due to your revelation? You must not feel guilt over that. It was necessary and right and all will be well because of it."

"No, it is not that!" she shook her head emphatically. "I blush to think of that, but it does not shame me. It is something else entirely."

"Then what is it, my girl?" he asked gently, leaning forward and placing his palms together.

Lizzy held her face in her lap, weeping silently for some time. Mr. Darcy allowed her to cry uninterrupted. He said nothing, only waited. At last, she calmed herself. She looked up, still averting her eyes from his kind, concerned face. She could not bring herself to look at anyone in those days, especially not Mr. Darcy, whose face bore strong traces of resemblance to his son's. "I will not tell you what I did," she said, "only, it was horrible, unconscionable." She shook her head vehemently. "I am so embarrassed to remember! But I did it because…because…" Her hands flew to her cheeks again, attempting to stay the flush. "I love your son, Mr. Darcy. So very, very much that it pains me physically. You do not know that he asked me to elope with him – the evening before Amelia and I were thrown to that sea-monster who claims to be your sister-in-law…"

That was a touch of the old Lizzy. Mr. Darcy smiled imperceptibly.

"I told him that I could not, yet he continued to press me – He said that he loved me, which was what I had always wanted to hear. I must have been in love with him for quite some time…I do not remember when I realized it. When the feelings crystallized. Do not ask me!" Her voice rose and trembled. "It seems silly to speak of it."

"Love is only ever earnest," Mr. Darcy said, "do not hesitate to speak of it. Truth is beauty."

"I could not elope with him!" she said, "I knew how wrong it would be, and I did not desire it. I cannot tell you how confused I was and still am. I love your son, but I am not prepared to marry him or engage in any of the love-making courtship rituals required by society. I do not want that. I do not know why. To make a long matter short, I told him that I did not love him. It was a lie, and he hates me for it. I have wounded his pride, and we both know Darcy too well to know that he will ever forgive me for it."

"My son has a favourite saying," Mr. Darcy began, but Lizzy interrupted him with, "_My good opinion once lost is lost forever_…Yes, yes, I know. He always says it at his most pompous. Well, now I have certainly lost his good opinion."

"You should not fret, Lizzy," Mr. Darcy said, "he did wrong in asking you to elope. It was an impetuous, spur-of-the-moment decision. I do not think he really intended it. God knows how glad I am he loves you…and you love him in return! For so long, I have desired this!" He smiled, radiating light. "But both of you are such headstrong, insubordinate souls, always at cross-purposes. And you are too young, my dear girl. There is a whole world waiting to be discovered by you, and you must have time to grow into yourself. Not that I would ever have you change a whit, my Lizzy. You have been the light of my life these odd years."

"Do not make me cry anymore, Mr. Darcy. I do not think I have any tears remaining to be shed. My tear-ducts are as dry as the Sahara." Having at last confided her secret, Lizzy felt a sense of blitheness.

"I say again, Lizzy, you did right," Mr. Darcy said. "My son will heal in time, but you must leave him to himself. He has more growing to do than ever you do. Let him go away to Cambridge and wall himself up with his books. The monastic lifestyle is what he needs most at present."

"I want to speak to him before I go," Lizzy said, "I feel our last interview was so abortive, and I have had no opportunity to apologize."

"At present, Lizzy, I think it best you left him alone. Nothing you say will dissuade him. I know my son too well. We must let him sulk in solitude. It is his way."

"But he hates me!"

"He does not hate you, Lizzy. He never could. He only says that he does, but there is a world of difference between what is said and what is thought. No, Elizabeth, he could never hate you. He loves you too much. Of this, I am certain."

Georgiana peeked her head into the room. "Mrs. Pross says all is prepared."

"Most excellent!" Mr. Darcy exclaimed. "Good woman! Well now, the question should be now…are _we_ prepared?"

Lizzy felt in her heart that she was not. To leave Darcy behind without a further word of explanation seemed a heartless action. Yet what was there to say to someone so determinately set against her?

She would leave without a word to him. And who knew when they would ever see each other again. It could be months, years…

Eternities.


	35. My Son the Don

Guys, look! I posted within a week! Hoorah! Huzzah! Proud of me? This is one of those explanatory chapters...but it does involve a "meeting." Cheery cheer cheers and chim chim cherie? cherry? churro?...spelling's never been my strong suit.

* * *

_My Son the Don_

_Three Years Later…_

Lizzy stood before the window, surveying the broad sweep of lawn that descended to the lake. How strange to be at Pemberley! She glanced around the lofty, imposing foyer, feeling ill at ease. It was very different from the cosy, comfortable, rather colorful lodgings they had taken in Italy and Greece. The stateliness and grandeur overwhelmed her and made her feel stifled, somehow…She liked it best when they lived in the cottage by the sea. But Mr. Darcy had insisted upon a return to his ancestral home, and here they were.

Her hands were knotted tightly in the folds of her dress. Darcy was coming. He was due to arrive that afternoon. It would be the first time that she had seen him in over three years. She had had no letter from him, now news other than that conveyed through Mr. Darcy. The uncertainty caused by his presumptive visit coupled with Mr. Darcy's sudden turn of illness made her feel vulnerable and listless. She had paced the corridors of Pemberley for three days now, and still there was no relief.

She turned away from the window, sighing. They had traveled much in that first year, and she had encountered many beautiful and strange places and people. To be in Italy, again! For it was Italy that had truly stolen her heart – sun-ripened Italia forever basking in the sun. An Italy were decorum was done away with entirely, and one could be free and natural…

Amelia had given birth to a baby girl – a finicky, crotchety sort of baby, or so Lizzy thought. She had been made violent love to by an ardent (and handsome) Italian count, who loved her so dearly that he was entirely willing to ignore the fact that their firstborn was not his. They were married in Venice, and Lizzy believed them to be quite happy. Amelia had improved somewhat. Guilt suited her and made her appropriately penitent. Her feelings toward Lizzy softened over the course of time, and they parted as friends. Lizzy was the godmother of little Lucy, with an open invitation to visit the Ordelaffis whenever she pleased.

After nearly twenty months abroad, however, they had returned to England. Mr. Darcy's health, though improved, he vociferously claimed, by the foreign climate, still suffered. They had all missed England – even Lizzy. She returned to Longbourn to be embraced heartily by everyone – Mrs. Bennet included. But Mr. Darcy was not to be parted from her and insisted that she take up residence at Netherfield…and, later, in Scotland in the cottage by the sea, one of his favourite properties. It was in this graceful, pretty house, which was perched precariously by the cliff-face, that they were happiest. There were long walks and talks along the shore and muffins toasted in the fire and excursions and jaunts of all natures …Georgiana grew so devoted to Lizzy that she would scarcely let her out of her sight.

Mr. Darcy traveled regularly to see his son in Cambridge and to conduct his affairs in Pemberley, but Darcy never once ventured north. Lizzy herself divided her time between Longbourn and the cottage, living with Mr. Darcy for a few months before returning to her family. In her absences, Darcy paid long visits to his father and sister. Lizzy did not know of these visits; if she had, they would have hurt her as they were such deliberate and calculated attempts to avoid her company. Darcy did not, in fact, condone his father's continued support of "Miss. Bennet," as he had taken to formally referring to her. But he more often than not refused to speak of her altogether. Mr. Darcy had never seen his son so fixed against anyone before, and this determination pained him beyond expression. He did not attempt to encourage his son to any sort of reconciliation, believing such advice would only harden his son's heart further.

He had done well in his studies and intended to pursue them – Mr. Darcy fancied he would become a don. "My son the don," he was fond of saying, chuckling into his cravat. Nevertheless, he supported him in everything; their relationship had strengthened even in absence.

"For Darcy seems to want only work," he remarked to Lizzy, "he tells me he has absolutely no interest in living the life of an idle gentleman. You should see him, Lizzy! He is the absolute model of industry. Just chuffing along grandly, acquiring immensities of impossible languages. I hardly know how he keeps it all organized in his head."

Lizzy herself had been well-educated. Mr. Darcy had seen that she had a number of excellent professors and tutors to guide her studies, and she had flourished in an environment in which education met reality. To study art in Italy was surely something remarkable. Lizzy had, as she claimed herself, "Been finished as a finial…Though I think I am only half-good in anything. I can only speak a sort of garbled pig-French, and my piano playing is woefully inadequate."

But Mr. Darcy was more than proud of her and wrote often to her father, praising her accomplishments.

"We shall hardly know her when she returns to us," Mr. Bennet told Jane. Nevertheless, the Lizzy who returned to them from abroad was very much the same as ever, although admittedly more subdued and restrained. She had learned to harness her imagination and spent time quietly daydreaming…In fact, she had employed the imaginative escapades of her youth to pen an adventure novel. After reading it (in one evening), Mr. Darcy insisted that it be taken to the publishers and, under his advocacy, was accepted. It met with great success in London and was soon in every bookshop in Britain. The author was, appropriately enough, a Theophilius Blondebeard. Lizzy was commissioned to write more novels, so she was able to earn for herself a rather substantial income.

"I am quite an independent lady now, sir," she informed Mr. Darcy, "so I no longer have to feel like such a charity-girl. You have been so kind to me, sir, but I cannot bear sponges!"

So three years had passed. And it had come to this…

* * *

Lizzy heard the crunch of wheels, the clatter of horses' hooves that announced the arrival of a carriage.

"Dear Lord!" she said to herself, "He is come."

All at once, she heard Georgiana flying down the stairs. She had been keeping watch at her bedroom window. A whirl of color and curls, she tumbled directly into Lizzy, laughing and taking her by the arm. "We must run to meet him, Lizzy!" she cried jubilantly, half-dragging Elizabeth down the hall and out the door into the drive. Elizabeth felt sick with fear and dread. She had practiced and practiced the way in which she would meet Darcy, and yet she felt suddenly and woefully unprepared.

The carriage halted, and Darcy emerged. He was grown even handsomer than ever, or so Lizzy thought. But then, she had not seen him in three years and was struck anew by his appearance. He was as tall and dark as she had remembered, though there was something newly authoritative in his stance, something newly decisive. Perhaps, too, his face was more care-worn.

Georgiana flung herself into her brother's arms and he, laughing, embraced her, picking her up and swinging her about.

"I am so, so very happy to see you!" she cried, "It has been nearly six months! Not since Christmas…"

He set her down, taking her arm. "And you have grown even taller, I think."

"Oh, yes!" Georgiana laughed, pleased. "But not as tall as Lizzy. She is ever so tall, aren't you, Lizzy?"

Darcy was forced to turn to Elizabeth, who stood some distance off, her hands clasped before her.

Her features softened under his gaze. She found it impossible to contain herself, and her happiness upon seeing him utterly transformed her. She wanted to throw herself into his arms as she had in the old days, but she managed to restrain herself, merely exclaiming, "_Darcy_!" It had escaped inadvertently, a force of habit. She had intended to refer to him as 'Mr. Darcy' and 'sir.' "I am so glad you are come!"

But the look he gave her – one of such cold indifference, such fixed immutability – nearly struck her dead. "Miss Bennet," he said, "I am pleased to see you again."

_By your tone of voice, I think you are anything but_, Lizzy thought to herself. The old pain returned forcibly.

Georgiana looked at Lizzy, confused. She turned to her brother, but he remained emotionless.

"How is Father?" he asked her.

Georgiana's face fell, and her brother required no further answer. "Will you take me to him?" he asked. That was all. They passed Elizabeth and entered the house. He did not so much as glance back at her.

She did not follow them, wishing to allow them time alone to their father. She wanted time to compose herself, for she felt like weeping out of pure shame and frustration.

She had thought that time would have eased his bitterness. She could see at once that nothing had changed. He had not and would not forgive her.

* * *

Ouch.


	36. Dodos

I decided not to make you guys wait - as the LSAC people are making me wait for my LSAT score! So here is a short chapter indirectly about Dodo-birds! I am so glad you guys are reading and reviewing - I always appreciate and take into consideration your feedback.

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Dodos

Darcy went immediately into his father's room. Mr. Darcy had kept to his bed for several weeks, too weak to venture far from the confines of his chamber. Lizzy and Georgiana were constant attendants, and the traces of their presence – ear-marked books and chessboards, bits of embroidery work (Georgiana's – Lizzy was still adamantly set against anything involving needles) and scraps of scribbled paper – were scattered about the room. Lizzy had been reading to him from _Robinson Crusoe_, one of their favourite novels. The book lay open upon the bedside table. Georgiana's piano-forte had been carried into a corner of the room. It gave her father immense pleasure to hear her play, and the three spent hours in concert, Lizzy turning the pages of sheet music whilst Georgiana played her father's favourites.

Upon seeing his son enter the room, Mr. Darcy visibly brightened. Disguising his shock at seeing his father so wasted – so chalklike and emaciated – Darcy crossed the room in three strides and was at his side in an instant, taking his hand. "Father!" he said, chaffing the cold hand. "I am so glad to see you."

"Of course you are!" Mr. Darcy said, chuckling, "how could you not be glad to see such a skeleton!" Despite his condition, Mr. Darcy remained as cheerful and sardonic as always. "How am I looking? You needn't lie. I am well aware how composedly corpse-like I am becoming. Good practice, I say."

"Father," Darcy said, looking pained.

"No need to be so deadly earnest, Fitzwilliam!" his father said, "With that expression, everyone will think you are looking more the dead man. Do not look so sad. I am old, and I am dying. There is nothing so extremely out of the usual about that. I have lived a good life. I have been happy. There is no tragedy in this. It is simply what must happen."

"Father, it does not have to happen now…If you allow yourself to think this way, you will give into it."

"On the contrary, my son. I am ready. I have resisted these three years, and I am tired. Yes, I am very, very tired." Mr. Darcy closed his eyelids for a moment. "Did you see, Lizzy, then?" his father asked slyly.

"Yes, Father."

"And was she looking well?"

"As well as she usually looks," was his son's clipped retort.

"I think she has been too much confined of late – she and Georgiana both are so insistent upon being closeted up with me. I try to tempt them outdoors, but, selfishly, I am glad they choose to stay with me."

"I am glad you have the company. I am only sorry that my duties in Cambridge prevent me from being here always…"

"No need, Fitzwilliam. I would not have you taken from your books." Mr. Darcy said, with only the faintest trace of irony. "Darcy, I do hate to jump immediately into business matters, especially with you just arrived. Nevertheless, I do have some things I would like to chew over with you – pardon the term."

"Anything, Father," Darcy said, straightening and plumping his father's pillows. "I am entirely at your disposal."

"I have thought much of late about my will. You will, of course, inherit everything Darcy, saving Georgiana's dowry. This is only right and natural. Everything has been put into order."

"Father, please…It pains me…It truly pains me…"

"We must be practical, Fitzwilliam. What concerns me is Lizzy."

Darcy's face stiffened. He could not help the expression.

"I know all of your falling out, of course. It is silliness, Fitzwilliam! I am surprised that you can so indefinitely harbor a grudge against that girl. If you only knew how much it hurts her – this continued coldness on your own part! She wants only to be your friend…Are you so determined to throw away all of those happy, happy years? But no…" Mr. Darcy shook his head, "It is not right of me to admonish you on that score."

"I am afraid that nothing you say can induce me to forgive her," Darcy said, "I cannot tell you how she has wronged me. It is not my place."

"I will say no more, only that you are very good at grudges, Fitzwilliam…Do you remember how you swore to chop off your poor Uncle Matlock's head that one time he forgot your birthday?"

"I was in a rather revolutionary mood that summer," Darcy said, laughing. "Poor Uncle Matlock, indeed!"

"You did not speak to him the entirety of his visit!" Mr. Darcy smiled, remembering. "And you were only five at the time. Children are not supposed to have such long memories. But I will say no more…no more…" He paused, looking over to the window. Darcy was pained to see the lost expression that momentarily crossed his face. But it was gone soon enough; Mr. Darcy turned again to face his son.

"I _would_ like to entrust Georgiana's guardianship to Elizabeth. You will, of course, be Georgiana's guardian in every legal sense – and you will do all that is right by her, I know. But I do not think you understand Georgiana's attachment to Lizzy. The two are almost inseparable, and I cannot imagine the pain of a separation, especially after…" He did not finish the sentence. "I am asking that you do not allow your personal feelings to interfere."

"I can assure you, Father, that I will do all that is right."

"I know you will," Mr. Darcy said, "and that it what pains me." He smiled wanly, squeezing his son's hand. "We have had our squabbles, Fitzwilliam, but we have loved each other always. I could not have asked for a better son."

"And I could not have asked for a better father," Darcy replied.

"So you will understand me when I insist that Lizzy be provided for. I cannot legally arrange this matter, Fitzwilliam. There is nothing I can do, however I wish it. If I could, I would leave her property, but I am prevented. Nevertheless, I must make you promise that you will ensure she be taken care of."

"I swear it, Father."

"Good," Mr. Darcy fell back against his pillows, looking visibly relieved. "Go down to dinner now, my boy. "You have greatly eased my mind. I can rest now, I think. Yes…"

Darcy squeezed his hand one final time before padding across the darkening room. He closed the door as quietly as possible, and then fell against it, dragging a hand through his hair. A tumult of terror and confusion raged in his breast. Long had he known his father's attachment to Elizabeth but never had he guessed how deeply his own coldness toward the imp had hurt Mr. Darcy. He had thought it an issue between two when, really, his father's own hopes and dreams had long been bound up in the pair. Something would have to be done.

* * *

"There!" Georgiana exclaimed, having arranged the last of Lizzy's stubborn curls to her own satisfaction. "Your toilette, mademoiselle, is complete."

"And high time, too!" Lizzy said, making a face at herself in the mirror. "As it has taken you the better part of an hour."

"You look ravishing, Liz!"

"I would snort derisively, George, but that derisive snorting is decidedly unladylike," Lizzy remarked, standing. "Besides, I hardly see why it matters. We are not entertaining any ferociously handsome dukes."

"But we are dining with my brother…" Georgiana remarked with a rather arch expression.

"He is not a duke, although I cannot honestly say he is not ferociously handsome," Lizzy said, avoiding Georgiana's gaze, "much as I wish to. Anyway, why all this fuss over dinner? I should prefer to have had it on a tray in your father's room as we usually do."

"Oh, I think we shall have great fun!" Georgiana said, taking Lizzy's arm and propelling her out into the hallway. "Do not pretend that you do not like dressing up and acting grand."

"That is true," Lizzy said, "although the fun is in the acting more or less. But I am not exactly happy that we must dine with your brother…I am sure I shan't be able to digest anything, he will glare at me so. Indeed, I'm afraid we shan't be able to so much as smirk with Darcy lurking about," Lizzy said, "I daresay dons don't approve of exuberance…and certainly never of staircase sliding. Besides, George, we are mature young ladies now, and mature young ladies never do anything …"

"Race you to the head of the stairs?" Georgiana asked suddenly.

"Of course not! Fie upon you for the suggestion, Georgiana Darcy!" Elizabeth said, before picking up her skirts and darting ahead.

"Lizzy!" Georgiana squealed, "you absolute charlatan!" The two ran pell-mell down the long corridor, their dresses billowing out in their wake. Lizzy had gained the definite advantage and was several feet ahead of Georgiana when, all at once, she collided into a particularly large and unexpected figure. It had materialized from behind one of the doors leading off the hall and was none other than…

"Darcy!" she exclaimed, running square into his chest. She fell backwards from the impact, and there was a rather sickening ripping sound. The skirt of her dress had gotten twisted about his pocket-watch chain and tore as she fell away from him. He reached out to catch her and steady her, his arms closing around her. As soon as they had both regained equilibrium, he thrust her away. She looked down at her torn dress, flushing scarlet. Georgiana caught at her arm, still laughing.

"Might I inquire what exactly you and Miss. Bennet were running from, Georgiana?" Darcy asked his sister in stentorian tones. Her smile immediately faltered.

"There was a ghost, you see," Lizzy said, managing to compose herself and look up… "and we were running in terror."

"A ghost?"

"What else could give us such a fright?" Lizzy demanded. "A dodo-bird?"

Darcy shook his head. "I see some of us are unchanged," he snapped. "Georgiana?" he offered his sister his arm but she danced away from him.

"You had better take Lizzy's arm," she said, the rougish twinkle returning to her eye, "she is injured, after all…"

"A torn dress hardly qualifies as an injury, Georgiana," Lizzy remarked.

"Yes, but you are the guest of honour," Georgiana insisted.

"Miss. Bennet?" Darcy offered his arm without looking down upon her. She had little choice but to take it, though she barely touched her fingertips to the coat-sleeve. They proceeded down the hallway in silence, their footsteps ringing out.

This was turning out disastrously, Elizabeth thought to herself as they glided along. She had fully intended to appear sophisticated and self-possessed in all of her encounters with Darcy. How typical of him to catch her in a weak moment! Confound him for it! She simply could not control herself around him. Old patterns were impossible to defy, and he expected this of her. No, there was no getting around it. She would always be a child around him. No amount of effort on her part would ever change that. He was as inexorable as death – as unalterable as stone.

With as much dignity as she could muster, however, she stood tall as an empress – never minding the ripped dress. Thus, they proceeded to dinner.


	37. Handshakes

No time today for an author's note, guys - posting this on the dash! Aren't you proud, though? Regular updates three weeks running, if I'm not mistaken. And you guys have gotten me to 1,000 reviews. Love love love. So much love. I especially hope that you guys love this chapter. Must go! Review, review, review! I want to know what you think!

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Handshakes

After a very strained and silent dinner, during the whole of which barely three words were spoken amongst the three diners, all of whom sat stiff and straight as tombstones, Darcy stopped Elizabeth with a request.

"Miss. Bennet, a word, please," he said, as she passed him on her way to retirement.

Georgiana stood in the doorway, wondering. Her brother shook his head. "I should like to speak with Miss. Bennet in private please."

Georgiana gave a knowing little smile and bobbed a curtsey.

"On matters of business," her brother stopped clarified loudly. It was too late, however. She had already gone.

The two adjourned to a small sitting room just off the main hall. They both sat very stiffly across from one another, as far as the furniture in the room permitted.

"I have something that I should like to say to you, Miss. Bennet," Darcy began.

"I had assumed as much," was her reply. Pertness! _Bite your tongue, Lizzy_, she reprimanded herself.

"It concerns my father. You know his condition."

"Yes," she said, silently seething at the formal pomp of Darcy's speech. It really felt as though they were complete strangers! "Yes, of course I know his condition."

"I know how much this…this…" he could not find the word but finally settled upon, "_breach_…between us pains him. I have long known his wishes – let me assure you that he has made no secret of them these past years." Darcy smiled bitterly. "But, knowing your own distaste for me…"

"Dear Lord, Darcy!" Lizzy said, unable to contain herself further, "you are such an _ass_!" She stood up, visibly moved, and began to pace the room. "I know it is not right to say so but you infuriate me to insufferable degrees! How can you possibly _bear_ yourself?"

"Miss. Bennet!" Darcy began…

"Oh, please," she returned again to her chair, "we have known each other since childhood, Darcy. Must you insist upon addressing me by that dreary article? I am to be 'Miss. Bennet' now? I suppose I should accept it meekly and address you with my eyes downcast, but really there is only so much I can stomach within one evening!" She could not sit still and, rising, began to pace the room, twisting her hands together agitatedly. "I have practiced and practiced at being a lady. Really, you would have been amazed by my progress! I can sit silently at a dinner party and bat my eyelashes ever so delicately. I managed once to even work myself into a slight swoon – but that was, admittedly, due to the fact that I was climbing Vesuvius in a flannel wrapper. I did not feign to faint so much as droop due to the heat …But that is all beside the point. Why can you not forgive me? Why do you insist upon such formal terms? I can understand their necessity around others – but when are _alone_…"

He turned away, steadily regarding the clock face.

"And now you are starring straight into the Medusa's eyes and turning to stone. Sometimes I think you would make a better monument than a man, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You certainly have the cast for it! Look here!" Lizzy said, kneeling at his feet and taking his hand. "I want nothing more than to be your friend again. God knows these past three years have been dismal without you. I have done exactly all that I ever dreamed of doing, and yet it was not the same without you. Everywhere I went, I felt haunted by your absence. Darcy, I would rot away in an infernal charnel-house in the midst of a pestilent bog if it meant we could be together." She spoke quickly, fervently, and he did not snatch his hand away from her. "Oh, God!" she said again, releasing him and resuming her pacing of the room, "Did I injure you so greatly, Darcy, that you could not write me _one_ letter? I wrote you twice a month and never once did I receive a response. Never once…It was torture – the purest, most sublime torture. I chose to ignore the 'breach,' as you call it. But perhaps that was wrong of me. Perhaps we should go once more into it, this breach…"

"I would rather we not," Darcy said, betraying nothing.

"Then why can you not forgive me? Is not three years an adequate amount of time? I have broken my heart over you, Fitzwilliam Darcy," Lizzy said, her voice breaking. She fell once more into her chair, suppressing a cry. Tears stood in her eyes. Darcy was alarmed – he had never seen her in such a state before. Here she was, plainly distraught. "Lizzy!" he exclaimed, the old familiar nickname escaping him unnoticed. She did not look up but shielded her face with her hand, ashamed to be seen by him. "Lizzy," he said again, reaching out a hand across the immense void that separated them.

All at once, he was gone. After she had managed to compose herself somewhat, Lizzy looked up to find herself alone. She leaned forward, clasping the arms of the chair and wanting to lapse again into sobbing. Fear of Georgiana overhearing, however, prevented her. She was preparing to rise and retreat to the comfort of her bedchamber when Darcy returned holding a thick packet of letters. "Here!" he said, pressing them into her hands, "here!" He began his own pacing, disheveling his hair.

Lizzy turned the letters over in her hands. They were plainly addressed to her from a Fitzwilliam Darcy, and yet they had never been sent. "What does this mean?" she asked, baffled.

"It means, Elizabeth Bennet, that I answered your every letter…I just could not bring myself to send them. Do not ask me why! I do not know myself. Call me a coward – call me whatever you like!" This was the most impassioned she had seen him, and yet she was not sure if this sudden burst of emotion proved more promising than his impenetrable façade. She felt frightened and ill at ease.

"You ask me why I have not forgiven you? Lizzy, I forgave you long ago. You were only sixteen then. I did not write because I was so ashamed of myself – of what I said to you and how I behaved. I left without even allowing you to explain. I was such a cur! My reasons were entirely selfish, and I threw away our long-standing friendship simply because my foolish pride was hurt. How could I be angry at you for telling the truth, Lizzy?"

She looked away, blushing and remembering how forcibly she had told him she did not love him. The truth? It was the biggest lie she, Elizabeth Bennet, chief prevaricator of the neighbourhood, had ever told.

"You say you have suffered. I have suffered, too. So much!" He pulled a chair close to hers and shyly reached to take both her hands in his. "All of my happiest memories are bound up in you. Those three years in which I kept away were desert-years. I think that's why I threw myself so whole-heartedly into my books! I just couldn't bear to go about living in the real world – without the hope of seeing you. And I honestly thought I never would allow myself to face you because I was so, so ashamed of the way I acted. I look back upon it as one of the blackest moments of my life."

"Don't say that, Darcy," Lizzy said, leaning forward. "I was every bit as wrong as you were. We were both to blame, truly. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You were hurt."

"But you are not angry with me? You'll forgive me?" he asked, suddenly hopeful and eager.

"Did you not read my letters, you dunderhead!" Lizzy said, smiling. "There was nothing to forgive! I wrote to you as my old friend – as though nothing had ever happened."

"And I thought them too good to be believed. They were my salvation in some moments." Darcy pressed her hands to his lips. "And we will be friends again?"

"If you will agree to it. In my own mind, we were never anything but friends. I will always be your friend, Darcy, no matter what happens," Lizzy said, very earnestly. She wanted desperately to say something more, but a sort of panic and embarrassment made her silent. She knew the consequences of speaking too freely of love.

"I did not think it would be this easy, Lizzy," he said, laughing and falling back into his chair though still retaining her hands. "I am so glad you had one of your outbursts and spared me the trouble of all my stiffness. I am so glad you called me an ass."

"Highly improper," Lizzy said, pursing her lips and straightening her spine, "I cannot think what came over me, young gentleman. I assure you that I am always the very pink of feminine perfection."

"Indubitably!"

"But that is all beside the point, Darcy. We have so much to speak of – but you must go first, of course. I've rambled on all about myself in my letters. I want to hear of Cambridge! What your fellow students are like and what you've been learning and…"

But Darcy shook his head. "When I said I had business to discuss with you, Lizzy, I was not entirely lying. I do have something that I would like to speak to you about…" He paled a bit…

"Oh, dear," Lizzy said, feeling somewhat nipped, "whenever I hear the word business, I immediately wilt in trepidation, as any self-respecting lady does."

"Well, do not 'wilt,' please," Darcy said, "as we haven't a fainting sofa roundabouts. It is very awkward, Lizzy."

"I think we are very adept at dealing with awkward situations, do you not?" Lizzy smiled. "Really, I am quite at my leisure. Let me hear this piece of business."

"It concerns…well…us, I am afraid."

"Oh, dear. 'Us.'" Lizzy shook her head. "The personal objective pronoun. How very terrifyingly awkward."

"I am serious, Lizzy. This matter is serious, I should say."

"Proceed, then, Graven-Faced."

He looked down at his hands, playing with a signet-ring. "I know how upset our separation has made my father. He has made no secret of his love for you, Lizzy, and has made me promise to provide for you when…" He could not bring himself to finish the sentence, and Lizzy did not want him to.

"Nonsense, really. I am perfectly capable of providing for myself, as he well knows," Lizzy said.

"I know you are," Darcy conceded, "but I also know how greatly it would ease his mind to be assured…You must know that he has long wanted us to marry, Lizzy," he said, and they both blanched and looked away from one another. "You are like a daughter to him, and he wants you to be tied to Pemberley and Netherfield and all the places he has loved. He wants you to be a Darcy. Surely he has made intimations of these desires to you…"

Lizzy shook her head.

"Or perhaps you just refused to see. Nevertheless, nothing would give him greater happiness in this life, Elizabeth, than to see us married."

"Are you actually proposing to me, Darcy?" Lizzy asked. "I am quite confused. All of the guidebooks say that the gentleman is to go down on his knee."

"Do not be so droll at this time, Lizzy!" Darcy said. "I well remember our conversation three years ago, and I have long moved past any ideas of that particular kind of love. We love one another dearly as friends, and I believe that love is justification enough to marry. It would be in name only, of course…a means of assurance for my father. We could play it up for him, you know. Just so he does not suspect that we are doing it to please him."

"How is this fair to you, Darcy?"

"I never want to marry anyone, Lizzy – I've quite made up my mind, you see. But, if I must marry, I think it would be quite fun to be married to you. If anything, you make life more interesting, and my life has been bleak for three years now. Best to keep you close."

"And you said in would be a nominal marriage?" Lizzy asked, afraid to broach the subject of 'that particular kind of love.'

"Yes, absolutely," Darcy said. "You may do whatever you like, Lizzy. It would be the best sort of independence. I am not much for grand society anyway, so I should not expect you to do too much entertaining. A little, at times, but nothing too taxing. The rest of the time you may spend as you choose. Just think of it! I should not bother you at all unless you wished it."

"But where will you be during all this time? Would we live together?"

"I will stay on at Cambridge – I am happy in my work, and it suits me. But I would come to visit on the long week-ends and during holidays and such. It would be just like old times…I mean…" He reddened somewhat and looked away.

"But you are forgetting the most important thing, Darcy…Is is really fair to marry without 'that particular kind of love,' as you call it?" Lizzy could not bring herself to imagine that Darcy was still in love with her much less admit to her own feelings, which were as strong as ever. Little did she know how similarly her old friend felt, how resolved he was against ever again confessing the feelings which had only strengthened with time. After her pointed rejection, he had promised himself, "Never again."

"I am perfectly happy to enter into his marriage, Lizzy," he said, "I've long resolved against marrying for romantic love – I feel it is all hopeless and foolish and fleeting. I make reference, of course, to my engagement to Amelia. But that is all in the past. No. I think the best kind of marriage is that made between steady friends. We know each other's quirks and foibles well enough by now. Indeed, we are both so stubborn and independently minded that I know we shall butt heads often. And I look forward to it."

"Elizabeth Darcy does have a very stately air to it," Lizzy said, "and I have been longing to get rid of 'Bennet.' It is too much like 'bonnet,' you know."

"That is reason enough for me," Darcy said, "as long as you are game."

"Oh, I am always game," Lizzy said, "and you are right – I want nothing more than to bring comfort and joy to your father. I, too, resolved not to marry anyone for those silly reasons – but we shall be more like two emperors consolidating our domains. Joint rulers, if you will. Yes, yes, indeed!" she said. Though she was blithe and brisk in her manner, Lizzy was secretly quaking – she knew her true reasons for accepting, and they had every bit as much to do with 'those silly reasons' as they did with any practical or strategic circumstances. "But you must allow me a moment's thoughtful pondering. All ladies must think over their offers, you know."

"Very rightly," Darcy said, attempting to contain his own jubilance. "Shall I retire to leave you to your thoughts?"

"That is not necessary. My thoughts are thought. I am prepared to accept. Shall we shake on it, sir, as gentlemen?" Lizzy cocked her head and gave him one of her old familiar saucy winks. She held out her hand, and he took it and gave it a firm shake. "I did not ask that we seal it in spit, as ladies never salivate," she added.

"Indeed, they do not!" he laughed.

"So, sir, when are we to celebrate this most blessed of occasions?"

"The sooner the better, Lizzy. We must make arrangements now."

Thus, the two who had entered the room as coldly as strangers left it arm and arm, restored to friendship…both madly in love with the other, yet both resolved forever against admitting their feelings.


	38. A Star Danced

_A Star Danced_

Happy chapter time, guys! There is an author's note at the bottom, if you're interested.

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"I don't know why I am so nervous," Elizabeth whispered, as she walked with Darcy down the hallway. They were preparing to announce their engagement to Mr. Darcy. He would be the first to be informed. "But my hands – they're trembling. I feel as though all the blood has drained from my body which is queer because my heart is pounding like mad."

Darcy held out his hands for her to inspect. They, too, were shaking. "I can't see why we're both so nervous. Especially considering we have such good news." They had reached the door to Mr. Darcy's bedchamber. Before knocking, Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "Now, Lizzy, we've got to really try, right? I mean, we must be absolutely convincing."

"Doubtless we'll startle poor Uncle Willy-Ben into utter bemusement. To go from mortal enemies to betrothed in one day! I can scarcely believe it myself."

"We were hardly 'mortal enemies,'" Darcy said, "and my father is accustomed to surprises. He's been in your company these three years. Although," he said, suddenly pulling a face, "I did inform him that nothing in the world would ever induce me to forgive you. Doubtless that will add spice to the surprise."

"Dear Lord, Darcy, you _are_ dramatic! 'Nothing in the world would ever induce me to forgive her,'" Lizzy said, in her best pompous-Darcy accent. "Have you ever considered writing for the stage?"

"I have at least five-and-twenty lurid scripts of intrigue crammed into my desk in Cambridge at this very moment," he replied. "Now, Lizzy, give me your best endearment."

"Must we be lovey-dovey and coo at one another?" Lizzy asked. "We are neither of us very sentimental people. I don't think Uncle Willy-Ben expects too much of us. We don't want to overdo things, after all."

"Shall I call you sweeting? My heart's darling? My precious cabbage?" Darcy aped an affected simper.

"Refer to me by any of the aforementioned and you might find yourself lacking a tongue," Lizzy retorted, pulling a decidedly unladylike face.

"Duly noted. I shall be slow of speech and tongue," he said, knocking softly at the door. A faint, "Come in," and they entered the room. Mr. Darcy was sitting up in bed, a book opened upon his lap. He wore his smoking cap crooked rather rakishly atop his head. A pair of spectacles hovered on the tip of his nose.

"You are looking very Confucian today, Uncle Willy-Ben," Lizzy said, settling herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. She patted the covers down, smoothing them. Light poured in through the windows, making the room cheery. Georgiana and Lizzy both had taken care that it should never have the close, cramped, confined, and stuffy atmosphere of a sickroom. "Have you any pearls of wisdom to bestow upon us, poor unenlightened fools that we be?"

"I hope that the pair of you are not unenlightened! I have paid a great deal to ensure that you should not be," Mr. Darcy teased. He put aside his spectacles. "Why are you both so fidgety? And have you made up yet? Hmm?"

"More than made up, Father," Darcy said, seizing upon this opportunity. He had not expected such an opening so early into the conversation. "I have asked Lizzy to marry me, you see."

"To marry you?" For the first time in all of her years of knowing him, Lizzy firmly believed Mr. Darcy to be truly incredulous. He could not have looked more surprised. "Dear Lord, Darcy! I did not think you would take my advice so literally…"

"Are you not pleased?" Lizzy asked.

"Oh, my dear child, of course I am pleased," Mr. Darcy said, touching her hand, "this is exactly what I have desired all these years. I have plotted to see it done! I just never expected it to fall together so quickly. When in blazes did the two of you make amends?"

"Only last evening, Father, in the sitting room," Darcy explained. He had seated himself beside Lizzy and taken her hand in his. They both felt this proximity keenly. Lizzy felt a blush blooming and fought madly to maintain composure. Darcy attempted to control the shaking in his hands, knowing it was due to more than any nervousness on the part of his father's reaction.

Mr. Darcy observed this hand-holding closely. He scrutinized both Lizzy and Darcy's faces, attempting to gauge the authenticity. Little did they know how he was on to them! He could look into their faces and so easily see the attempted deception. How doubly deceived were the pair!

"Do we have your permission, Father?" Darcy heard himself asking.

"My permission! What a question to ask! Of course you have my permission, Fitzwilliam. If I had the strength, I do believe I should get out of this bed and do a jig. As it is, however, I must content myself with wreathing myself in smiles. There now, Lizzy, is this not a beauteous smirk?" And Mr. Darcy smiled toothily, making Lizzy laugh.

"That, sir, is a prize-winning smile. I could not have endeavored to do better myself."

"Well, and when is the wedding to be, eh?"

"As soon as we can manage it, Father. I thought of even obtaining a license so that we did not have to wait for the banns," Darcy said. He retained Lizzy's hand.

"Hasty to the wedding are we?" Mr. Darcy said, raising an eyebrow, "though, yes, I encourage this. I assume you are rushing ahead due to…well, my imminent demise, to speak plainly…" He ignored the pained looks on both Darcy and Elizabeth's faces, brushing smoothly ahead to say, "I want nothing more than to witness the ceremony myself. Do you think we could manage it?"

Darcy and Lizzy exchanged glances. Mr. Darcy had been bedridden for some time.

"Oh, I am not dead yet," Mr. Darcy said. "And going into a churchyard would do me a world of good. Besides the fresh air, I might have a peep into the graveyard. But enough of morbidity! We have a wedding to attend to!"

This was exactly the reaction Darcy and Lizzy had desired. The news of their engagement had worked wonders on Mr. Darcy. His color rose; he was animated, ebullient… "I shall get out of this bed!" he declared stoutly, throwing back the covers and flinging his legs to the floor. "I am perfectly capable of walking. I have only been allowing myself to rot away like a particularly lazy cantaloupe."

"Steady, Father," Darcy said, giving his father his arm, "do not strain yourself. You have no need to prove anything." Mr. Darcy leaned heavily against his son, but he did manage a few s steps. This spurred his confidence – he placed less of his weight against his son, taking only his arm to steady himself. Very slowly, he began to take small steps on his own. These took obvious effort, and yet, buoyed by his success, he brightened perceptively.

"I suppose we should have decided to become engaged ages ago," Lizzy said, as Mr. Darcy threaded his arm through hers, "for all the good it has done you in these past moments."

"Lizzy, my Lizzy, no need for 'supposes.' You are engaged now, and my business will be to see that you are wedded as promptly as possible. I will not have either of you renege. Especially not you, Lizzy, as I know how fickle and tell-tale you are." He patted her arm affectionately. "My mercurial girl. You shall be made to marry before you change your mind."

"Yes, well, I suppose I shall have to walk the plank sometime," Lizzy replied, "and Darcy will do as well as any other man."

"Thank you," he said, "I do believe that is the sweetest thing you have said to me all afternoon."

"We do not believe in cooing at one another," Lizzy explained to Mr. Darcy. "Endearments are not much in my line."

"No, indeed, my dear," he said.

"Expletives and curses are much more her style," Darcy said.

At this moment, Georgiana chose to fling herself into the room and seize hold of Elizabeth. "Married!" she cried, taking her by the waist and waltzing her around the room. "You are to be married, Lizzy!"

"That is the general plan," Elizabeth said, somewhat surprised at all this effusive roseate happiness on the part of her young friend. "Listening at keyholes again, George?"

"I learned to do so from you, Lizzy!" Georgiana said, flushed and happy. "Please tell me that I will be a bridesmaid?" She returned Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy and fell, laughing, against her brother.

"You and Jane both," Lizzy said, "and you are to wear whatever color you please excepting puce."

"And what shall you wear, Lizzy?" Mr. Darcy inquired, "I should have you looking as fine as Princess Charlotte herself! You are to be a Darcy, my dearest of dear Elizabeths, and must be suitably attired. We will send you down to London immediately to be fitted in the finest…"

"My dear sir, I am not some newfangled carriage to be upholstered and bedecked!" Lizzy exclaimed, "I shall wear my best blue dress and my straw bonnet. And I dare you to stop me!"

"Lizzy, my Lizzy, you might wear your dressing gown and curling papers for all I care! So long as you get to the church! Oh, …" he called out… "fetch me my writing desk…I must write to Lady Catherine and gloat. You, my children, he said, taking their hands, "have made me so unbearably happy. I do declare this is the finest of all Thursdays!" He began to spin them round and round, and they laughed as he led them in circles. "Lizzy!" he cried, kissing the crown of her head, "you shall be the most beautiful and beguiling bride in the whole of the northern hemisphere. Darcy," he said, bestowing a kiss upon his son's cheek, "you will form the ideal model of a groom."

"Darcy is more beautiful than me, I am afraid," Lizzy whispered devilishly. "Do you recall the quote in 'Much Ado,' Uncle Willy-Ben? When Beatrice declares she will not have Don Pedro because he is too fine for her? I am somewhat of that disposition when it comes to Darcy – I fear he is 'too costly to wear every day.' I must have another husband for working-days." She and Mr. Darcy smiled conspiratorially whilst the object of their mirth rolled his eyes.

"Always nonsense, you magpie!" he snapped, though good-humouredly.

"Yes, well, you might bake me in a pie but still I'll sing!" Lizzy said.

"I should not marry someone who gets along so well with my father. Doubtless you will both conspire to vex me at all ends."

"Are you threatening to jilt me?" Lizzy inquired in mock horror. "If so, I shall hire the finest periwig in Hertfordshire and sue for breach of engagement!"

"I want to talk of plans!" Georgiana interrupted peremptorily. She was perpetually planning. "It must be the most beautiful of all weddings…" Georgiana was at a rather romantic point in her development and envisioned weddings as ethereal and vaguely Grecian. They were the golden culmination of that abstraction Love. She did not care much for the realities of the marriage state itself – but give her a wedding, and she was lost in raptures.

"No, it will be a plain meat-and-potatoes affair," Lizzy said. "Off we trot to the church and then it's home to a breakfast of bread and cheese."

"Oh, Lizzy!" Georgiana gasped, believing her in earnest.

"What were you expecting, George? Ambrosia and honeydew?"

"You will let me supervise everything," Georgiana said decisively.

"If I were to do that, George, I should find myself robed in clouds and crowned with stars with a veil as gossamer-light as cobwebs. You are far too fanciful when it comes to these affairs. Weddings happen every day! No planning whatsoever is necessary. Everything is settled. We will go down to the church and say whatever it is people say to one another when they marry and that will be that."

"Only you shall be made my sister by law," Georgiana said.

"Yes, well, I suppose that cannot be helped," Lizzy teased, "much as I wish it could. I have enough sisters on my hands as it is, without having to add you to the lot."

"Oh, Lizzy!" Georgiana cried, attempting to salvage some dignity from the situation, despite an increasing desire to throw romantic notions to the four winds and laugh heartily, "Are you ever serious?"

"There was a star danced, and under that she was born," Darcy quipped.

"I am only _ever_ serious," Elizabeth added, pulling a long face. "There will be time enough to be grave when I am buried." She caught herself at once, whitening with pain over her carelessness.

"No need to turn so pale, Lizzy," Mr. Darcy teased gently, "you mustn't think I take any offense." He tucked her arm securely beneath his and patted it several times reassuringly. "Now tell me from the bottom of your heart that you love one another. I need some assurance."

Elizabeth hid her uneasiness, gazing steadily up into Darcy's eyes. "I would not have agreed to marry him if I did not love him beyond all comprehension," she said. "I do not think I should have to prove my love, sir. I should think it would be apparent."

Mr. Darcy took her in his arms again, embracing her tightly. "You are glowing, Elizabeth Bennet. I have never seen you so dazzling." Elizabeth met Darcy's eyes over his father's shoulder and quickly looked away. She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks. Darcy, for his own part, had no idea in what light to take Elizabeth's remarks. Her earnestness was undeniable. He felt his heart constricting – a painful lightness pervading. Was this pretense? Not on his part. Never on his part.

"We shall have to write to my father," Elizabeth said, releasing herself from Mr. Darcy's embrace and still avoiding Darcy's eyes. "And Lord knows what he will say…."

But Mr. Bennet raised no objections. He wrote back to say he had no qualms whatsoever about the marriage, as Lizzy had been making up her own mind since the tender age of three. He would arrive at Pemberley with a bevy of Bennets and please to put them up for an evening or two. He remained, etc.

"Indeed," Lizzy later remarked to Georgiana, "You would think people would be more obliging about throwing obstacles into our way. It is hardly proper that things should be this easy. Darcy must be made to have a mad wife locked away in an attic. I must be made to be secretly engaged to a Corsican pirate who discovers my betrayal at the ninth hour and challenges his rival to a dual... At least something…"

But no such impediments – either in the form of mad wives or Corsican pirates - presented themselves or, after a fortnight's passage, Darcy and Elizabeth were prepared to find themselves wed.

* * *

Note

Guys! I'm sorry! I'm going to be sporadic until mid-December just because of finals/applications/thesis stuff. Promise that Georgiana's piano master will make an appearance soon. He does exist. And Jane and Bingley will be reunited next chapter. I love you all, of course. That's a given.

Happy Thanksgiving! I am fully prepared to eat an entire pan of sweet potato casserole.

Also, I just wanted to give a shout out to C. Lennox who wrote me the sweetest, most encouraging private message ever! I love, love, love comments. I am such a sucker for them, so please feel free! I take all of your suggestions to heart. WordsofWhimsy, I totally agree about Darcy and will include more from his POV next chapter. Firth's Darcy, you are so right about the Darcy comment. I tried to slightly gloss over it this chapter – hope it makes more sense now. Guest – November 16th would have been perfect. I hate that I missed it – I've been so out of touch with dates lately. I somehow thought today was November 9th, not the 19th. Somehow, I manage to convince myself that I am being productive when really I just sit in front of my computer screen staring into space. I promise to post as soon as conceivably possible – with Thanksgiving holidays starting Wednesday, I should have a bit of free time to spare. Next chapter = wedding.


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